By Candlelight
by solroros
Summary: Hermione is the only survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts, the last great clash between the Light and Dark. Dumbledore, months prior, had given her an out, "just in case" something went wrong. Knowing this is her only chance to save the world from certain destruction and death, she lights the candle. SB/HG JP/LE
1. Silence and Wishes

Chapter 1: Silence and Wishes

The grounds of Hogwarts were silent and still as ash drifted down from the sky. Bodies of friends and foes, Light and Dark, littered the once-pristine green fields and the halls of learning beyond. Flashes of light, curses and hexes, slashed through the air as the last living member of each army dueled in the ruins of the Great Hall. The enchantment on the ceiling remained above even as the supporting walls crumbled, the illusion of a blood red sky blending with reality as the last battle wheezed its death rattle.

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione cried, red light shooting from her wand and connecting with the ragged black form of Bellatrix Lestrange. The older witch flew through the air, slamming her into the last standing wall. Her body disappeared beneath a pile of rubble, which settled with a last echo of thunder.

Hermione gasped for breath, turning quickly in anticipation of another attack. None came. She whirled again. Surely, at any moment, another Death Eater would appear to attack. They were like cockroaches, never dying completely.

After five minutes of waiting and listening, Hermione lowered her wand. For the first time in five years, since she had arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and joined the forces of the Light, she was victorious... and utterly alone.

In the center of the Hall lay the bodies of her best friend, her heart's brother, and his most bitter enemy. The recoil from Harry's _Expelliarmus_ and Voldemort's _Avada Kedavra_ had killed both wizards instantaneously. Hermione wondered if that meant Harry's life after the war would have been merely survival instead of true life – Trelawney's prediction had proved correct so far, so she was inclined to believe that Harry would never have been truly happy. How does a sixteen-year-old move on and find new purpose when his identity had been defined by a successful murder?

Hermione chose to make certain of her solitude by searching the ruins, calling out for her comrades as she went. She counted nine motionless redheads, one dead werewolf, and a shock of pink hair near him. Luna's blonde tangled with the bloody remains of Neville's brunette. Sirius's tattooed fingers hung limply from beneath a large piece of fallen ceiling. Classmates, friends, allies intermixed evenly with the bodies of those who wished them, and the world at large, harm.

_What was the point of all this?_

Soldier first, student second, Hermione had been fighting this war since she was informed of her magical abilities at the tender age of eleven. In the first year alone she helped Harry Potter and his friend Ron Weasley both discover the location of the Sorcerer's Stone and save an innocent man, Sirius Black, from a fate worse than death. At the age of twelve, she was able to brew a more than passable Polyjuice Potion, had helped destroy the diary containing Voldemort's sixteen-year-old self, and begun the extracurricular study that led to her position as Chief Researcher for the Order of the Phoenix.

In their third year, when Remus Lupin came to the school to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Voldemort had lured Harry and his friends to the Department of Mysteries. On that adventure, Sirius had (thankfully) escaped a deathless journey through the Veil. He was a great help to Harry during the (ill-advised) Tri-Wizard Tournament, a sort of mentor to Ron in the "we both know how it feels to be in the shadow of a Potter" way, and an almost older-brother figure to Hermione. On the nights when she stayed up late, due to nightmares or research, he was always there for her with a cup of cocoa and a joke. They had all grown so fond of each other...

Hermione dashed the tears away from her dusty face and hurried through the ruins of the school, calling out as her voice grew ever-more hoarse. The more emotional part of her mind, the one that urged her to cry and hold on to the corpses of her friends for as long as possible, cried out that this wasn't fair. This summer she should have been receiving her O.W.L. results, not combing a battlefield for her last hope. Viciously, she slammed those thoughts into a corner of her mind until she was ready to scold herself for having them in the first place.

After the death of Cedric Diggory and Voldemort's "coming out" (as Sirius always liked to call it), Hermione and her friends had left school to join the Order full-time. While Molly Weasley especially had protested at first, Dumbledore admitted that the need for capable soldiers was too great. Like the other members, the friends had received identifying tattoos somewhere on their bodies. Harry's had been red phoenix wings spread across his shoulders, Ron the same except across his chest. Hermione had been more subtle, opting for a small phoenix rising from the ashes just above her right hipbone. The tattoos burned when a meeting was called. She tried not to think about how this made them so similar to Death Eaters, with their Dark Marks and fear of disobedience.

Under the tutelage of Alastor Moody, the so-called Golden Trio had accelerated their fighting abilities far beyond the expectations of fourteen-year-old dropouts. They could draw their wands in a blur and fire off spells quicker than thought. Hell, Hermione didn't even need her wand or words to do some magic. She knew more about the Dark Arts than she ever thought she would be inclined to learn – as Chief Researcher, her motto had been "know thy enemy". After hours of research and teaching some of the Order herself, the group was much more prepared than they would have been otherwise. Some spells were so Dark and ancient that no counter-curse had ever been found. In the years since leaving Hogwarts, Hermione had devised many counterspells after long evenings in the Grimmauld Place library with Remus and Tonks.

A smile flitted over her bloodied face, remembering the frantic camraderie the three had shared in those late hours. The unusual couple had been like a second family to Hermione, more of a sibling relationship than a parent-child one, after the death of her parents in her second year. An enterprising Death Eater, realizing the threat that Hermione posed to the Dark Lord's future plans, had taken it upon himself to organize a raid on her home. Hermione had been safe at headquarters, but her parents were not so lucky.

She had killed the Death Eater, Macnair, herself.

It took her an hour to circle the castle, to confirm that no one else remained alive. Satisfied and heartbroken, Hermione returned to the Great Hall to carry out Dumbledore's last request. She slipped her wand into its thigh holster, strapped over her black skinny jeans, and withdrew the device from the pocket of her black leather motorcycle jacket. Everyone in the Order had long since taken to dressing in dark colors when they could help it – made one less of a target during battle.

Cradling the black candle in her hands, Hermione slowly called on the fire within her soul to light the flame. With all her might, she concentrated on one thought: preventing the macabre scene. She would do anything, anything at all, to prevent what had happened here today. In a flash of golden light, Hermione vanished from the present and the grounds of Hogwarts were silent as the grave they had become.

At sixteen, war and death were all she had ever known. And now she knew where that led: to an empty school and a burning sky. Perhaps it was time to give something else a shot.

* * *

Lily Evans was fed up. Really, she had had it up to here with James Potter and his snotty friends. Yes, fine, she wasn't actually that fond of Severus anymore (he did hang out with the worst, most racist pigs she'd ever had the misfortune to meet), but that didn't give them the right to behave like the arrogant toerags they were.

_Maybe Mum's right_, she thought, idly picking at her dinner plate. _Maybe we are just all idiots at sixteen._

The Welcome Feast would have been a joyous occasion for the newest Gryffindor prefect, if it hadn't been spoiled by James asking her out every five minutes and the jealous glares from the other girls in her year that his attentions drew. If she found another frog in her bed tonight, so help her Merlin she was going to hex the pigtails right off Honoria Watson's head. The stupid blonde thought James was _hers_ and shouldn't be flirting with anyone else.

Lily rather viciously speared a piece of chicken. _Stupid Potter_.

To her right, Marlene McKinnon elbowed her gently. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned for her friend. Marlene came from a very old, influential pureblood family, but that hadn't stopped her from befriending the Muggle-born considered by many to be the brightest witch in their year. Lily sighed expressively and took out her feelings on an unsuspecting dollop of mashed potatoes.

"Just wish Potter would leave me alone. That something would happen to distract him, or something."

A dirty and bloody girl, dressed all in black, appeared in a flash of golden light not two seconds later, right between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. She appeared to have chunks of rock in her bushy brown hair. The strange girl whirled to face the Head Table, freezing when she saw every member of the staff had drawn their wands on her. The stranger raised her hands in the universal gesture of surrender, while every student in the Hall burned with excitement and curiosity.

Marlene leaned over and whispered to Lily, "Looks like you got your wish."


	2. Introductions

**A/N: The Elysian Candle is based on the Bablyon Candle from Neil Gaiman's "Stardust". The phrase "travel by candlelight" is one of my favorites and inspired the device in this fic. If you've never read Gaiman, do yourself a favor and go read him now!**

**Also see if you can spot the Buffy quote in the middle.**

**And for those of you who haven't guessed by now, things are gonna be AU like whoa.**

* * *

Hermione had been hoping for a more, ahem, understated point of departure than the middle of the Welcome Feast. She certainly had, at least a little, hoped to not be held at wandpoint so soon after surviving a battle. The adrenaline was wearing off, though the shock of grief kept her standing (if not steady). After all, it's not every day you lose everyone you've ever known.

"Who are you?" a slightly younger Headmaster Dumbledore inquired. Hermione kept her hands in the air as she responded. Thankfully they were empty - the candle had burned up in the transition, so that was one less thing she had to explain.

"When I was young, I was told that help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who had need of it." She winced – did her voice really sound that croaky? "Well, I have need of it, Headmaster. Will you grant me asylum?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up at her evasive response, and Professor Slughorn was sputtering so much Hermione feared he would pass out. Yes, it wasn't the most enlightening of responses, but she needed to coordinate with Dumbledore on how this should play out. Was she keeping her name? Did she know anyone in this time? Where… or rather when was she, anyway?

She quickly glanced around. Judging by the hairstyles, she'd have to say she was about twenty years in the past.

"Far be it from me to contradict myself," Dumbledore said, a slight chuckle in his voice. Hermione kept herself from rolling her eyes. The Headmaster loved his little jokes.

"Headmaster, I must object!" several teachers said at once. Professor McGonagall glanced around at the others who had spoken with her – teachers Hermione didn't recognize – before voicing her own concerns.

"It is impossible to simply appear, either by apparition or other means, on the grounds of this castle-"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but that's simply not true," Hermione said politely. Or as politely as one can when interrupting someone you deeply respect. "As you can see, I've done it. If you would kindly lower your wands, I have a letter for the Headmaster explaining how I came to be here."

Curiosity shone in Dumbledore's eyes and sounded in the whispers from the students around her. Dumbledore lowered his wand and beckoned Hermione forward. The trip to the Head Table had never felt so long before, but usually she was running to greet Hagrid or something. She stifled a sigh – another fallen friend, killed by the giants he had been sent to recruit. Also, she was pretty sure there was some sort of cut on the back of her leg, as she was most definitely hobbling.

_Splendid_, she thought. _I've been up for at least thirty-six hours straight, probably have more cuts on me than a Christmas turkey, and now I have to convince one of the most powerful wizards alive that I deserve his help. Must be Tuesday._

Hermione reached into her jacket as she neared the Head Table, causing some of the staff to reach for their wands again. They relaxed when she withdrew the letter, sealed with Dumbledore's personal signet: a phoenix entwined with the letter "d". She handed the hefty missive to Dumbledore – his future self had sent quite the long message to his past self. Knowing that they would need to change the future anyway, she guessed that the older Headmaster had opted to lay out the history of the war and his reasoning for sending Hermione to... whenever she was.

_Dumbledore summoned her to meet him in the Grimmauld Place kitchen at midnight, alone. Hermione, used to spending time one on one with the brilliant man, arrived exactly on time as the elder wizard Floo'd down the chimney. They greeted each other and sat at the battered wooden table, listening for a few moments to the winter wind howling beyond the Order headquarters._

_"Miss Granger, I have a request of you, and I do not wish for you to become disheartened when you hear it." Hermione nodded, used to waiting for Dumbledore to get to the point by now. The man buzzed around his meaning like a bee with a flower. He took a deep breath and leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of his face._

_"There is a very good chance that we will lose everything in the final battle. The prophecy concerning Harry and Tom is unlike any other in recorded history, and we cannot be certain that the outcome will be pleasant. I wish to give the world another chance if the worst should come to pass." _

_Hermione nodded again – why put all your eggs in one basket? (She'd had a lot of fun explaining that idiom to Arthur a few nights ago.)_

_"Thanks to your research into the Dark Arts, we were able to recover an ancient device long thought lost. Do you know what an Elysian Candle is?"_

_The answer popped into her head, itself shaded with candlelight from long nights in the library. "An Elysian Candle is an ancient Dark device, used primarily during the Inquisition and other times of severe Muggle oppression, to transport a witch or wizard backwards in time in order to correct an event or series of events. Most often the user sought to prevent their impending death or imprisonment. Banned by the Ministry in the seventeenth century, along with other time-manipulating devices due to their unknown ramifications, the technology to produce the Elysian Candle was lost to time."_

_Hermione blinked, the true meaning of her little recitation hitting her. "You know how to make one thanks to research I did? I barely remember touching on it."_

_Dumbledore chuckled. "You mentioned it in passing about three months ago, and I have been working on it ever since. Now, it's not to say that I don't have faith in Harry, or the prophecy, but I like to ensure a happy ending whenever I can. Especially after this war, it has all been too much for this old man's heart."_

_Some days, when the cynicism of war got to her, Hermione wondered if he had a heart. He was a brilliant leader and man, but there were days… _

_From his pocket, Dumbledore withdrew a small black candle and two large, sealed, letters. The candle smelled faintly of sandalwood and time, though she couldn't exactly say how she knew that. Time was one of those background sense and sensations, moving along the body with only a whisper in its wake. Hermione's witch-senses, her intuition, felt the power radiating off the small piece of wax._

_"You want me to travel back in time and fix things if they go wrong?" Dumbledore nodded, handing her the candle. Hermione's hand shook as she received the device, vibrating with the power radiating from it. She quickly set it down on the table and examined the letters – the seal, the weight, the way the writing didn't bleed through the parchment. One was addressed to 'Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore', the other simply to 'Hermione'._

_"How far back will I need to go? How do I control the candle? What are the letters for? When-"_

_Dumbledore held up a hand to halt her questions. "I do not know when you will end up, however I can tell you that, like most Dark objects, the Elysian candle feeds on emotion. If you concentrate on your heart's desire, the candle will take you to the most opportune moment for making that wish a reality. The letters are as you see them addressed. I ask that you open yours away from prying eyes, but hand mine to me as soon as you can. Understood?"_

_Hermione had no choice but to nod. Dumbledore was the general of their army, considered by many to be their only hope in winning this war. His wishes were orders, and orders must be followed._

_Without further discussion, she rose from the table and took the candle. As she reached the door, a thought occurred to her. She turned back and met the carefully emotionless eyes of Albus Dumbledore._

_"How do you know I'll survive the war if the others don't?" she asked. "How do you expect me to live when all my friends, my family, are dead?" Dumbledore smiled sadly._

_"Because you must, Hermione. If the rest of us do not survive this war, you must live on for us."_

Hermione had not read her letter yet, though she had carried it in the inner pocket of her trusty leather jacket for months after that conversation. An abbreviated and tense Christmas, complete with a Death Eater attack, had followed a short while after her meeting with Dumbledore. In the run-up to the battle at summer's beginning, Hermione had spent many sleepless nights researching for the Order in public and researching the Candle in secret. To be quite frank, the letter had slipped her mind.

Thanks to her research, she knew she had one shot to use the Candle. There was no going back if one made a mistake, hence the need for a strong will and wish when lighting the Candle.

It was a good thing that she had nothing to miss.

* * *

Sirius, along with the rest of the school, watched with baited breath as Dumbledore read the strange girl's letter. The Headmaster's eyebrows moved minutely, giving nothing away, though his mouth tightened a bit as he flipped through the pages. Sirius was not terribly familiar with the Headmaster, aside from the odd reprimand when the Marauders pushed things too far, but he could tell that the man was intrigued.

The sixth-year's eyes were mostly drawn to the girl all in black standing in front of the Head Table. Her shoulders were tense and even from here he could see she was shaking. The whispers traveling over from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff said she had blood and dust on her face. The whole school could see the cut on the back of her left thigh, which was sluggishly bleeding down to her combat boots. Who was this girl? Why were her pants so (gloriously) tight? And why was no one helping her?

He whispered the last to James, who shrugged. As ever, Potter was watching Evans to see her reaction. Sirius thought Lily was nice enough, but didn't understand his friend's obsession. There was puppy love and there was just being creepy, as he had told James a number of times in private, and James was getting towards the creepy end of things. He wished his friend would just relax - it wasn't _that_ hard to talk to the bird you liked.

The longer Dumbledore read his letter, the more unsteady the girl seemed to become. The teachers were too busy being wary to notice the girl was injured, and everyone else was caught up in their own gossip. It felt oddly like the Black family dinners, only without the screaming matches. Thoughts of his insane family alone were enough to get his blood boiling. Sirius was just about to jump to his feet (and possibly, in his imaginative mind, sweep the injured girl off hers) when Dumbledore looked up from his letter. Even from afar, Sirius could read the strange mix of pity and gratitude on the old man's face. What was that about?

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice. The whole school went silent, straining to hear the Headmaster's words. "I cannot begin to thank you enough. I assume you are a Gryffindor?" The girl – _Miss Granger_ – nodded. "Then let us have someone from your House escort you to the Hospital Wing."

Dumbledore's eyes swept over the Gryffindor table and landed on Sirius, who started to rise from his seat even before the headmaster summoned him. "Mr. Black, would you kindly escort Miss Granger to the Hospital Wing?"

"It would be an honor, Headmaster," Sirius said with all his usual charm. Several girls nearby tittered, but he ignored them. There were grumbles from the other boys in his house as Sirius quickly made his way to the Head Table, where Miss Granger was about to keel over from exhaustion. He smiled at her and was surprised when she smiled back, though the expression did not reach her lovely brown eyes.

_Oh Circe, did I really just think that her eyes were 'lovely' in my own head? _

"Sirius Black at your service," he said, reverting to pureblood mannerisms out of habit. Miss Granger's smile widened.

"Oh well, then I know I'm saved," she said with unwonted sarcasm. Sirius tried to cover his confusion – maybe the girl was just tired – as he slung one of her too-thin arms over his shoulder.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"Probably," she responded, leaning on him as they made their way down the length of the hall towards the doors. "Make that probably for a short while."

He moved his arm, which had been pressing hers into his shoulders, and looped it around her waist. Even beneath the leather of her jacket, he could feel how curvy she really was. Where was she from? What was her name? When would be an appropriate time to ask?

Sirius was often forward with the girls he met – Muggles, witches, everything in between he flirted (and sometimes did more) with alike. But this girl, this battered girl, did not look like someone who would take kindly to his normal methods.

Then again, there was no harm in trying.

"Don't worry, I'll carry you if need be," he responded with what was assuredly a charming grin. Miss Granger rolled her eyes.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Black. I barely know you. A girl can't let herself be carried around by strange men, it'll ruin her reputation."

_Is she flirting with me? She's so deadpan it's hard to tell._

"You could tell me your name," he said as they reached the doors. She raised an eyebrow. "In the interest of getting to know each other better, of course. Just in case. Wouldn't want to be too forward, in an emergency situation, or, um, whatever."

_Merlin's beard, what's wrong with me?_ Sirius never tripped over his words around women, not even when he was eleven.

Miss Granger laughed. "No, we wouldn't want that."

She stumbled over nothing as they neared the main stairs, her feet finally giving way to what Sirius thought must be shock.

"My name's Hermione," she said as she fainted.


	3. While You Were Sleeping

**A/N: So this one's a bit different, stylistically. Hermione needs her nap, and our characters need time to think. Love the reviews so far, thanks for the encouragement all!**

**Day 1**

The whole of Hogwarts was buzzing with gossip about the mysterious girl who appeared during the Welcome Feast. No one (except Sirius and Dumbledore) knew her first name, so the students had taken to referring to her as 'Granger' overnight. Wild theories abounded as to who she was and why she appeared, but the craziest speculation centered on the 'how'.

"She's a clever ghost," one third-year Hufflepuff claimed.

_How was Black able to hold her up then?_

"She's the Darkest witch to ever grace the earth," decried a wise-looking Ravenclaw seventh-year.

_Highly doubtful, Dumbledore would have imprisoned her on the spot were that true._

"She's actually the spirit of Hogwarts itself!"

_Oh for the love of Merlin!_

"She's-"

"Shut it before I take ten points from Hufflepuff," Lily snapped at the giggling Hufflepuffs behind her. "I'm trying to pay attention to the lesson." The girls made faces at her, but quieted themselves. Lily returned her attention to Professor McGonagall, who was outlining the Transfiguration syllabus for the coming school year. Granted, it was a little boring, but it was better than gossiping about some poor girl.

Lily had no theories herself on the mysterious stranger, she hadn't even really gotten a good look at her. All she wanted to do was focus on her schoolwork and get through the day without someone calling her a Mudblood for the five millionth time. And maybe avoid Potter while she was at it. Keeping her nose out of this business was the easiest way to accomplish both those goals.

Yes, she would have nothing to do with this Miss Granger whenever she appeared.

* * *

Wherever Hermione was, it was nice. Really nice. Nicer than anywhere she'd been in a long time. Books stacked neatly on gleaming wooden bookshelves as far as the eye could see, none of them to do with the Dark Arts, and there was a cup of hot cocoa on the small square table beside a comfortable-looking red leather couch.

_Am I dead?_

Faintly, voices drifted through the stacks of books, voices that sounded concerned but not entirely familiar.

_Probably not. _

There was something she was supposed to do, something she was supposed to accomplish. With a shrug, she picked up the nearest book (a collection of Keats poems, one of her favorite Muggle authors) and sat down on the couch. It was just as comfortable as it looked. Opening the book, she lost herself in the words.

* * *

**Day 2**

Sirius was worried. He'd borrowed the Marauders' Map from James to keep an eye on the Hospital Wing, and by extension Hermione. She was stationary and had been for the last day or so, ever since he carried her there himself. Thank goodness for his long hours of training as a Beater, otherwise he wouldn't have made it to the third floor (even if she was rather light). Why was the Hospital Wing so bloody far from the rest of the school anyway? That was just poor planning.

Dumbledore had gone in and out a few times, and Madam Pomfrey's little ink self bustled around the infirmary, but Hermione hadn't moved at all.

"Are you all right, Pads?" James asked as they worked on their potion. "You seem… tense."

Sirius glanced up from the map. He contemplated, for perhaps the fiftieth time, telling James about his conversation with Hermione. (Such a strange name she had. Then again, he was named after a star. Who was he to judge?) Normally he shared everything with James – they were closer than brothers, closer than blood. Certainly closer than he was to Regulus.

_So why don't I want to tell him?_

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Sirius said. "We don't have anything going during the break, do we?"

James shook his head. "I was thinking about asking Evans out again," he said with a hopeful grin.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Love your optimism, Prongs, but I think a requirement for a date is actually having the date-ee _like_ you."

"There's a fine line between love and hate, my friend," James said, dramatically tossing his dandelion roots into their potion. With an almighty crack, the liquid overflowed. Students hopped up on their stools to escape the path of the sickly green brew while Slughorn hurried over to help.

"You're supposed to _gently_ deposit the roots, not hurl them in like a Quaffle!" Evans called over the din. James smiled, happy to have his heart's desire's attention.

"Fine line," Sirius grumbled under his breath. "More like a great wall."

They finished clearing the ruined potion just as the bell tolled for class change. "I'll catch up with you later, mate," Sirius said. He did not wait for James's response as he made his way to the (obtusely out of the way) Hospital Wing.

* * *

Hermione was getting a bit annoyed. She'd read her way through many of her favorite Muggle books and some of the wizarding ones (mostly textbooks, she'd yet to make her way through much of wizarding literature). Large chunks of text were missing from the books, whole sections that she theorized she must have skipped over at some point or another. Either she was in her own head, or she was in purgatory.

"If I had to guess, I'd say you were in your own head," a familiar voice said from behind the couch. Hermione whirled around.

"Harry!" she cried, leaping over the back of the couch to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? Where is 'here' anyway?"

"The answer to both those questions is 'I'm not sure'," he said sheepishly, hugging Hermione back. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Walking with Sirius, a really really young Sirius," she said, leading him over to the couch. "I think he was flirting with me." Harry laughed at that.

"Of course he was. So you went back in time? The Candle worked?"

"Yeah. Wait, did you know about that?" Harry shook his head.

"The _real _Harry didn't know, but I suspect that I'm your subconscious projecting a familiar image to talk you through your trauma."

Hermione blinked. "Yeah, you're definitely not Harry."

"Doesn't mean we can't talk."

* * *

"Please, I just want to see her, make sure she's all right," Sirius said. Madam Pomfrey was blocking the entrance to the Hospital Wing, and had been for the last five minutes. She needed to let him through or this was going to be a complete waste of a break.

"You and every other student in this school. The poor girl is still unconscious. No one can see her except the Headmaster."

_Well bugger that. Time to be clever._

"What if I had a real medical emergency?" Sirius gave her his best puppy dog eyes, knowing how effective those were to get McKinnon to do his homework, or Watson to give him the last scone.

Apparently they were less effective on thirty-something mediwitches.

"Don't try that with me, Mr. Black. Several other students have tried that method already and received detentions. You don't really need another one of those, do you?"

Sirius sighed heavily. Moony would be angry with him if he missed the next full moon, which was tonight. "No, I suppose not. Can you at least let me know when she wakes up?"

"I make no promises, now shoo!" Pomfrey flapped her hands at him before slamming the door.

He turned away, dejected, right into a veritable swarm of goggle-eyed third-years. "What are you gawping at?" he asked with a glare. They scattered.

* * *

**Day 3**

"So you think I can be happy here?" Hermione asked her assembled family and friends. They were all there – her parents, Harry, Ron, Remus, Tonks, Ginny, Sirius (older Sirius), Kingsley… everyone she had liked or loved, everyone she had left dead on a future battlefield.

"I think you can do a great deal of good," Remus said. "You can save us, and yourself."

That had Hermione worried. What if she changed the future so much that she was never born? How was this really going to work logistically? What if they ended up fighting a worse war anyway. She buried her head in her hands, mind swimming with all the questions she was sure that Dumbledore, even in his great wisdom, had glossed over in his desperation to vanquish Voldemort once and for all.

"You'll have to keep fighting for a little while, bookworm," her father said. "But you won't underestimate them, no one will. Not with you there to help them."

"I'm so tired of fighting, Dad," she said. "I'm just so tired of life."

Ginny Weasley, her best girlfriend, knelt down before her and took her hand. "There is more to life than war," Ginny said. "We didn't get a chance to find that out. Now you can, and we can live in a world with different battles. More civilized ones that require cunning instead of strength, the kind that hurt but don't kill."

"Can you do that for us, Hermione? Can you work for a world where we have a choice?" Ron asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'll miss you all terribly, but I think I can try."

"It's okay to be sad, dear," her mother said. "That means you loved us very much. But it's all right to be happy as well. Don't forget that."

Harry took her hand. "I love you, sister. Now open your eyes."


	4. Reconnoiter

**A/N: I hope that my rather realistic portrait of Dumbledore doesn't offend anyone. He's not a bad guy, per se, but he is proof that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Don't believe me? Ask Arianna Dumbledore.**

**Ten points to the house of your choice if you can spot the Doctor Who reference.**

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, heir to the fabulous wealth of his ancient pureblood family, was running extremely late. He pulled on his mask and tried to ignore the ever-increasing burning sensation in his arm. As a quickly-rising (though still junior) Death Eater, tardiness was a luxury he could not afford.

He apparated to the pre-arranged meeting place, some godforsaken manor in the Welsh hills, and took his place immediately. The majority of his comrades had arrived before him, though he noted a few gaps in the circle. Like them, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. It was an insult to stand before the Dark Lord, like an equal, unless he gave you leave.

Sometimes it boiled his Malfoy blood to bow down to a halfblood like the Dark Lord, but he kept those feelings of resentment buried far beneath careful Occlumens shields. Voldemort was a skilled Legilimens, but Lucius was a slippery-minded man. It was worth the resentment to know that he was on the side of those who wished to return wizards to their rightful place in the world – above non-magical peoples, exalted, revered. Not hiding behind magic walls and spells of invisibility.

"You're late, Lucius," the Dark Lord said quietly.

"My most sincere apologies, my Lord," Lucius said, not looking up. He chose not to explain that he had been at St. Mungo's with Narcissa, consoling her on her latest miscarriage (the second since their marriage three years ago) when the Dark Mark summoned him.

"Crucio!" Voldemort cried, and Lucius waited for the pain to wrench his limbs. It did not come, though the screams of someone other unfortunate wizard reached his ears.

"Fortunately for you, Macnair was even later," the Dark Lord said. Bellatrix chuckled and ignored the glare Lucius sent in her direction. Though useful for her place in Voldemort's good graces, and feared for her enormous magical talent, Lucius could not stand his sister-in-law.

They waited in silence for more Death Eaters to appear. An eternity passed before Voldemort cleared his throat and sighed.

"Well, then, let us begin. Who can guess why I have called you here tonight?"

Lucius smirked. The Dark Lord might have been refused the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher some years ago by that Muggle-loving fool of a Headmaster, but his penchant for leading questions remained.

"Anyone? Come now, after a few years in my service surely you have all become more attuned to the Dark forces than this." Voldemort slowly paced the inside of the circle, grinning. "Really? No one? Not even a guess?" His chuckles sent crackles of fear down Lucius's spine.

_We need him. Don't let the fear overtake you. We need him._

"On September the first, there was a surge of Dark magic from the direction of Hogwarts the likes of which I have never felt in my life. Either _Dumbledore_," he spat the name, "has taken on a new hobby, or a powerful new ally was stretching their muscles."

The circle was silent. A new Dark wizard? (_Or witch_, Lucius amended in his own mind. Narcissa was biddable enough, but she did like to remind her husband that she exceeded his talents in Charms and Transfiguration.) The unspoken question was: more powerful than Voldemort?

"Now, who would like to volunteer to find out which scenario the Fates have graced us with?" Voldemort's eyes swept over the circle, carefully evaluating the options. Most of the Death Eaters came from old Slytherin families, and none were young enough to still be students or foolhardy enough to remain under the thumb of Dumbledore by becoming a Hogwarts professor. A few had relatives still at the school, but Lucius did not consider many of them trustworthy. There was no place for _children_ in the coming war.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix's mad voice carried across the circle. "I might have the ideal young man."

"Oh?" Voldemort's tone was carefully disinterested.

"My young cousin, Regulus, is a fourth-year in Slytherin, and quite attuned to the Dark for one so young. It is possible he felt something. I could speak to him for you?"

Voldemort inclined his head. "That is all for now. The next time I summon all of you, please do me the great courtesy of being on time." His eyes bored into Lucius's. "Or else."

Hermione opened her eyes to the familiar sight of the Hospital Wing ceiling. She had spend far too much time becoming acquainted with that particular set of masonry in her years as a student at Hogwarts, and it took her mind a few moments to catch up with her eyes.

The battle.

Harry and Ron, dead on a field.

The candle.

She swore as she sat up, wincing at the soreness in her muscles.

"I agree with the sentiment, if not the expression of it," Dumbledore said kindly from his seat next to her bed. "Jelly baby?" He offered the bag to her.

Hermione shook her head and waited for the headmaster to continue. He looked much younger than the version she was familiar with, though his lengthy beard and even longer hair were both dazzling white. There were a few less lines on his face, and an unabated twinkle in his eyes. Surely Voldemort was currently a threat, otherwise he wouldn't have been so shaken by the letter.

"I must first reiterate my thanks, Miss Granger," he said after a moment of silence. "I, naturally, verified the veracity of the document which you presented to me three nights ago. Your service to the Order and the wizarding world is beyond commendable."

"Three nights ago?" Hermione asked, cutting through the waffle. She didn't want thanks, she wanted her friends back.

"Yes, apparently between whatever happened to you before this and the transition by Candle left you rather drained. I imagine you are quite hungry." He waved his wand and a house-elf appeared with food for Hermione.

Oh, right. He didn't know about the battle.

"Would you like to know what happened to me before I appeared?" she asked as she scooped up some scrambled eggs.

"If you feel ready to tell me. If not, then perhaps we can discuss your immediate future. As I'm sure you know, the nature of the Candle does not permit you to travel forward to the time from whence you came. I'm certain we will have ample opportunity for you to share your story with me, perhaps once the shock of whatever you have experienced has worn off."

"As you wish," Hermione said, more than happy to shove those memories to the side for the moment. She was not unfamiliar with the grieving process. After her parents were murdered by the Death Eaters and she, rather cathartically, took her vengeance on Macnair, she had thrown herself into the minutia of schoolwork and keeping her friends alive. Staying busy was important to the Hermione-doesn't-have-a-breakdown plan.

"How goes the war effort then?" she asked. Dumbledore looked nonplussed. "Voldemort. I assume you've heard of him, and he must be doing awful things already if you thanked me the way that you have. What can I do to help."

A sort of pity entered Dumbledore's eyes. "Haven't you done enough, Miss Granger?" Hermione shook her head.

"I came back here to prevent the terrible things I've seen. The sooner I can start on that, the better."

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. "Unfortunately, you are also underage. Whatever spells counteracted the Trace on you are no longer in effect. You will have to remain at Hogwarts until you are of age, and I then I would hope that you can make your own decision as to how you will live your life."

He raised a hand to cut off her insistence that _of course_ she would be helping with the war effort. "Much can change in two years, Miss Granger. I would like to see that you receive the education you were so unjustly denied by the outbreak of war."

Hermione glared at the headmaster for a minute, but soft memories rushed to the forefront of her mind to soothe her. An older version of this man asking her to live on for all of them, the phantom voices of her friends begging her to let go of her grief and anger.

_Fine. For now._

Her acceptance must have been written on her face. Dumbledore explained that, once Hermione had cleaned up and changed clothes, McGonagall would be escorting her to Diagon Alley to retrieve all the supplies she would need for the coming school year. Hermione protested that she had no money with which to purchase clothes or books, but Dumbledore waved her concerns away.

"My family was wealthy and I've had little use for money in all my years. It's the least I can do, knowing the service you have provided for the world." Hermione was suspicious but she let it slide. While Dumbledore was a great man, she had learned long ago that all of his seeming generosity came at a price. Yes, he believed the best in people, but that did not stop him from using them as he saw fit. She had seen where being used by Dumbledore led, and though she had gone along with his back-up plan she would be damned if she let herself be manipulated by him again.

The headmaster asked what classes she had been taking, which led to her outlining the reasons for her departure from the school at the end of her third year. She was not sure if that information had been provided in the letter – judging by the headmaster's avid attention, it had not. He stroked his beard in thought.

"I supposed we could have you sit an impromptu exam, to make sure that you're ready to take sixth-year classes. What do you have an interest in?"

"All subjects except Muggle Studies or Divination," Hermione responded.

"Why the lack of interest in Muggle Studies?"

"I'm Muggle-Born. I know most of it already. Given that I'm from the future," here she chuckled a little, "I'm afraid I'd have an unfair advantage."

They agreed she would be tested by all the teachers in History of Magic, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Astronomy, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.

"I think it's safe to say that you are well beyond a sixth-year's abilities in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore said with an understated smile. "But we will put you with your year for that anyway."

Hermione felt slightly better that her future was thus settled, at least part of it. The rest, she mused as Dumbledore left and she made her way to the showers, would have to work itself out.


	5. Undetectable Extension Charms

**A/N: So, I did some fact-checking. This story kicks off in 1975, which was the Marauders' and Lily's sixth year, and funnily enough September 1 was on a Monday that year. Yay for timelines working out on their own!**

**A/N2: The current author would like to apologize for her past self's incorrect assessment, both of HP history and math in general. Thanks to Kallanit who pointed out that this story should take place in 1976. The author wishes it to be known that her past self has been sacked, reprimanded, educated, then re-hired. Just assume Hermione fell asleep Wednesday night and woke up Friday morning. Corrections entered below.**

**Don't judge Lily too harshly. Fifteen isn't the easiest age (as I'm sure some of my readers can agree) and she's been hurt enough by the Mudblood tripe for her empathy to take a beating. Hermione's not just there to save lives, after all...**

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Lily knocked on Professor McGonagall's door for the third time. She had a question about her Transfiguration essay that really couldn't wait, and so far her Head of House had been elusive to say the least.

To be honest, most of the teachers had seemed preoccupied since the events of the Welcome Feast. Professor Flitwick had burst into tears during Charms yesterday, and Professor Slughorn had changed around his sixth-year's curriculum to include more healing potions. Lily really had no idea what had gotten into all of them, but she felt an odd sort of foreboding that she could not bring herself to share with her dorm mates... especially since she could predict their reactions perfectly.

Marlene: "You're just overwhelmed, Lils."

Hestia: "I can't believe Potter is so over the moon about someone so paranoid."

Bridget O'Flaherty: -unintelligible Irish slang-

Amelia Bones: "How utterly ridiculous, Evans."

Yep, Lily was all too familiar with her dorm-mates personalities and proclivities. Six years of living in close quarters will do that. Marlene was her best friend out of all of them, but even then there was some distance between them due to the difference in their upbringings. Some pureblood mannerisms and assumptions were utterly foreign to Lily, and occasionally Lily felt alone in her class of pure- and half-blood classmates.

Lily turned away from the office in a huff, adjusting the two heavy satchels on her shoulders, just as McGonagall and that Granger girl turned a corner.

"Professor!" Lily said, unnecessarily loud. McGonagall, deep in conversation with the strange girl, startled, covering her heart with her hand.

"No need to shout, Miss Evans. You gave me a fright," McGonagall said sternly. Lily grimaced, happy that the professor hadn't taken any points from Gryffindor. They were already behind the other houses thanks to some prank Black had pulled up near the Hospital Wing yesterday.

"Sorry, Professor, I just have a very important question about the essay you set about Conjuring and I've been waiting for such a long time-"

"Yes, yes, of course," McGonagall said, cutting her off. "Follow me into my office, I actually have a favor to ask you."

Lily followed the Deputy Headmistress into her office, determinedly not looking at Granger. She had sworn to herself that she would have nothing to do with the girl, not with so much riding on this year.

While Lily asked her questions, Granger kept herself in the background. Lily's eyes drifted of their own volition to where the girl was perusing McGonagall's private library. She was wearing that beat-up leather jacket and another pair of equally tight pants, these ones dark blue instead of black, and combat boots that appeared to be made out of dragonhide.

_Why is she dressed like she's ready to kick someone's arse at the first available opportunity?_

Lily snapped her attention back to McGonagall as the older witch addressed a finer point of Lily's drafted essay. She was not going to take an interest! Even if the girl did seem a little too tense for her own good...

_No, not this bleeding heart tripe again_, said the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Severus. _You were kind to Potter first year and now he's made your life a living hell with his attentions. You can't let your kindness turn your life upside down again!_

When their conversation was concluded, McGonagall shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Well, Lily wouldn't say uncomfortably. Nothing had ruffled the professor's feathers in all of Lily's experience.

"As for the favor, I was hoping you could escort Miss Granger to the Gryffindor dorms and introduce her to the other girls. She will be joining your year, and I hope you recognize your duty as a prefect to help her in any way possible."

Lily opened and closed her mouth a few times. Her plans for a carefree, studious year were going up in flames before her.

_Maybe she won't need my help. She appeared in the Great Hall in the middle of the Welcome Feast, for Godric's sake. She's probably miles ahead of the rest of the class._

Lily looked over to Granger and found herself confronted with the saddest pair of brown eyes she'd ever seen.

_Oh, bugger_.

"Of course, Professor." Lily left her chair hesitantly and crossed the room to Granger.

"Lily Evans," she said, offering her hand. Granger took a deep breath (Lily didn't know why) and shook Lily's hand.

"Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lily wracked her brain for something to say as she left McGonagall's office with Hermione.

"Are you familiar with Hogwarts or do I need to give you the tour?" Lily asked as they made their way to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione smiled at her tentatively, an expression that did not quite reach her eyes.

"No, I would say that I'm fairly familiar with the castle," Hermione said. Then her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. "I mean, Min- Professor McGonagall gave me a bit of a tour before we went to Diagon Alley this morning. To get my school supplies and such. Can't wear this all year." She gestured to her ensemble, and Lily nodded in agreement. The redheaded witch wanted to ask where Hermione had found those pants, but refrained. She was going to fulfill the letter of this request, if not the spirit.

Though she had to admit she was curious...

"What classes will you be taking?" Lily asked, slightly out of breath, as they climbed the stairs.

"I expect everything but Muggle Studies and Divination," Hermione said as she took the steps two at a time, beating Lily to the top. "Do you need me to carry something?"

"No, I'm fine," Lily said, despite feeling the sweat break out on her brow a bit. "Why not Muggle Studies?" she asked in a cautious voice.

"I'm Muggle-born," Hermione said simply. "I could probably teach the class."

Lily gave an uncertain smile as they went down the hall toward the portrait of the Fat Lady, trying not to jump for joy inwardly. She might yet end up not liking this girl, though it would be nice to have another Muggle-born in her house to talk to. Judging by Hermione's clothes, the girl was a bit of a rebel and a rough-houser. Lily recalled the rubble and blood that had covered the girl when she appeared in the Great Hall.

Glancing over at the girl walking beside her, who was seemingly lost in her own thoughts, Lily had to wonder how much of her first impression was accurate.

When they reached the Fat Lady, Lily explained how the portraits worked as Hermione listened patiently, then gave the password – _libertas leo_ – before leading the way to the common room. Nerves danced in Lily's stomach as she took in the familiar red and gold room, with its squashy chairs and dark wood trim. That feeling of being slightly left out, set apart, always assaulted her when she entered the communal space. Perhaps because the room was a reminder of how she _should_ be feeling.

Having magic was supposed to make her feel less like a freak, not more.

Naturally, every conversation died when Hermione was spotted. The witch's brown eyes darted around the room (thankfully, the Marauders were off causing mayhem somewhere), taking everything in.

"Hi, I'm Hermione," she said in a hesitant voice. "Guess I'll be joining all of you."

Lily took one look at the girl's slightly terrified face and grabbed her hand on instinct.

"Listen up, no one will pester Hermione with questions or they will have points deducted from the House!" Lily stated, wondering inwardly at her own reversal of opinion of Hermione. _Damn my tender heart_. There were several mutters, but the other Gryffindors at least made an attempt to look like they were returning to their work .

* * *

Hermione's heart was pounding as they ascended the familiar steps to the Gryffindor girls' dormitories. She had sensed during Lily's meeting that the mother of her best friend didn't want anything to do with her, and wondered at her defense in the common room not minutes ago.

An image came to mind unbidden of Harry attacking a mountain troll in the girls' lavatory. He hadn't liked her much at first, either. Maybe it was hereditary.

Lily let go of her hand as she led her to the room at the top of the Tower, the same room Hermione and her dorm-mates would/had occupied in her own time. A bed had been added right next to the window that looked off to the Forest in the north, though the space in front of it was bare.

"I forgot to ask, do you have a trunk or something?" Lily said, a little stiffly.

"Or something," Hermione said quietly. She withdrew her beaded bag from her pocket, smiling as she remembered the circumstances surrounding its creation. During the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Bill Weasley had met and fallen in love with Fleur Delacour, the competitor from Beauxbatons. They were married the summer that Hermione and the boys joined the order, when Dumbledore had spoken to them about the Horcruxes.

Initially the small purple bag had been intended for emergencies only, but over time Hermione had realized her life was in a constant state of emergency. She had taken to keeping it on her at all times, spelled to open only for her, Harry or Ron.

Withdrawing the bag from an inner pocket of her jacket, she undid the knots holding it closed. In the silken depths lay the physical evidence that her whole life to this point had not been a fever-dream. The light of the room fell on the photo album containing pictures from her first year at Hogwarts, stacked on top of the pictures Harry had of his parents and a similar one of Ron's. She'd promised the boys she would hold on to them, just in case.

It would be a long time before she could bring herself to open those particular books.

"What's that?" Lily asked, curiosity replacing the stiffness in her voice.

"Or something," Hermione repeated with a sad smile. She set the bag on the floor and with a wave of her wand her old trunk emerged, along with the bags of supplies that she had purchased that day in Diagon Alley.

Dumbledore had chosen to share Hermione's story with McGonagall and a few of the other teachers, mainly the heads of the other Hogwarts houses, while Hermione was in her pseudo-coma. So most of their time was spent with McGonagall fussing over Hermione, even going so far as to take her to Fortescue's for a sundae, and chatting about that year's Transfiguration curriculum.

"_I'm sure that you'll be more than up to the work," McGonagall had declared before taking a prim bite of her lemon sherbert._

"_I certainly hope so, I haven't had formal schooling in over two years. I'm afraid there will be gaps in my education that prevent me from keeping up with the rest of the class."_

_McGonagall gave her a skeptical look. "If half the things Albus shared with me about you are true, I'm sure that any gaps will be covered in no time."_

"Wow," Lily said as everything settled into place. "How did you get all of that in there?"

"Undetectable Extension Charm," Hermione said as she dug her new robes out from the Madam Malkin's bag. "It's dead useful for purses. I can show you how to cast it, if you'd like."

Lily smiled. "I would like that very much. None of my purses at home have room for my books during holidays, and I always want to take them to the beach with my parents when we go."

Hermione smiled back. "I have, had a similar problem. My mum used to give me such a hard time..." her voice trailed off sadly, not wanting to talk about her parents just yet. They were somewhere out there in the world right now, dating but not yet sure they wanted to get married, five years almost to the day away from having their only daughter. It was too surreal to think about.

She could tell Lily wanted to ask her about her parents, but the other girl let it go.

"Bathroom's through there, if you want to get changed. The other four girls had Divination, but they should be back up here soon if you'd like to meet them before we go down to dinner."

Hermione took a deep breath. She could do this. She had faced down countless Death Eaters and taken her O.W.L.'s at thirteen. She could totally do this.

"Sure, you don't mind waiting?" Lily shook her head.

"I have some time, and quiet, to go over my Conjuring essay. I'll be out here when you're done."

For some reason, that simple assurance made Hermione feel much better than she had all day.


	6. The Pen Is Mightier

**A/N: I have chosen, for my own purposes, to make Dorea Black James's mom. Read up on it if you're curious, there's not much in cannon either way.**

**Sorry for the recent lack of updates. My father passed away not too long ago and staying motivated to do much of anything is difficult at the moment. Reviews help, but please only send them if you feel called! I just enjoy doing this.**

* * *

The unusually all-black owl soaring toward the Slytherin table was one that Regulus had not seen since his last birthday, when it had borne some rather Dark presents to the townhouse at Grimmauld Place. Styx, as the owl's mistress had named him, fluttered elegantly down between the flagon of pumpkin juice and a half-full bowl of fruit. Regulus regarded him with trepidation. Those Dark objects had been nasty until his mother figured out how to get them to stop biting.

Styx extended his leg, large amber eyes looking at Regulus expectantly. The fourth-year cautiously removed the letter attached, noting the spidery yet elegant writing from his cousin Bellatrix.

_Sirius is always going on about how we can't pick our family._

There was an unmistakeable swelling of pride in his chest as he gazed at the letter. Bella, by no means his favorite cousin, was nevertheless the most well-connected and powerful. Her magical abilities were legendary... and if she had a touch of the Black family madness, well, that just added to the allure, didn't it? And she had chosen to write to him! A true Slytherin never took such an opportunity for granted.

Not wanting the owl to return to his mistress on an empty stomach, Regulus fed Styx a rasher of bacon. The bird hooted in a dignified way before exiting the Great Hall in a swirl of night and talons.

Regulus glanced around the table at his fellow Slytherins to see if his receipt of correspondence had gone unremarked. While Slytherins were supposed to be "on guard" at all times, most of his pureblood classmates were too self-absorbed to pay much attention to the younger Black. Though he had made something of a reputation out of being the antithesis of his notorious older brother, Regulus still had to fight for a place in his House.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, he put the letter in his pocket to be opened at a later date. Out of habit he glanced over at the Gryffindor table on the other side of the hall, where his big brother took a seat next to their somewhat cousin, and Sirius's best friend, James Potter.

_I used to be his best friend._

Growing up, Regulus had adored his older brother. In the younger Black's eyes, Sirius could do no wrong. He had always been underfoot while James and Sirius had misadventures around the Potter's estate, Olwyn House, but Sirius had always made Regulus feel included (even when he was laughing at him).

Then came the Sorting Hat, and Sirius was sent to Gryffindor, and all the trouble started. Sirius started mouthing off to their parents, challenging the long-held and preached beliefs in the purity of blood and passing the lot of them off as bigots. He tried to drag Regulus over to his viewpoint, but the younger Black avoided those discussions by retreating into the Black family library at Grimmauld Place. He had no wish to incur their mother's wrath.

Unfortunately Sirius took Regulus's desire to avoid conflict as complicity in his parents' views, and had started verbally attacking him whenever their paths crossed. Regulus, who really had not taken the time to examine his own views on blood purity, was angry that his brother would attack him so. Why did it matter so much to Sirius to be different from the rest of the family? He was already in Gryffindor, did he really have to push the blood purity issue? Was it not enough to be the Heir to the Black family, and the only other male in the line? Did he have to challenge their parents so?

He had said as much, causing Sirius to declare that his younger brother had completely missed the point. He hadn't really spoken to his younger brother since they were both dropped off at King's Cross a few days prior. Regulus was starting to wonder if Sirius would even acknowledge him in the halls if he greeted him. He doubted it.

Regulus shook himself from his reverie and rose from the table, leaving the Great Hall to seek out an alcove by which to read cousin Bella's missive. Finding an appropriate alcove behind a tapestry of a boar hunt on the fourth floor, far enough from the dungeons to avoid his housemates and equally distant from Gryffindor Tower, Regulus withdrew the letter and carefully broke the seal. A flash of light from the cracked wax indicated to Regulus the importance of this letter – his cousin had spelled it to alert her when he opened it. What could be so important? He only saw Bella at family functions like Christmas or weddings – her recent one to Rodolphus Lestrange a few months prior was the last time he had seen her.

Gathering his Slytherin cunning, he read:

_Dearest cousin,_

_I write to you on behalf of a man greater than myself, greater than any other in this world, though I dare not write his name. He is most interested in an event that took place the night of the welcome feast. A blast of... unusual magic emanated from the vicinity of Hogwarts. In his name, I beseech you: do you have any knowledge of what caused this magic? Reponds-moi soon, my cousin. My master and I eagerly await your letter._

_Toujours Pur,_

_Bellatrix (Black) Lestrange_

Regulus's brows drew together, his thoughts racing. He of course knew what caused the unusual magic – all of Hogwarts did, and he was surprised that the Dark Lord had not heard of the event by now. While he had yet to write to his parents about the first days of school (as only three days had passed), he knew that he would be addressing it in his next letter. Surely other students had mentioned it too?

Here was an opportunity, however, to ingratiate himself with an up-and-coming political power. Though only fourteen, Regulus could tell which way the wind was blowing. The most powerful families in Britain – the oldest and most wealthy – were, for the most part, falling in line with Voldemort's teachings of blood purity and the superiority of wizardkind. Though he had little insight into the arrival of Miss Granger, he was certain whatever information he could share would be valued by both his cousin and her master.

Regulus hurried to his rooms to write a response. Carefully he crafted the letter. He could not be too overbearing nor too subservient. A delicate touch was required.

_Sirius wouldn't know a delicate touch from a hole in the ground. Bloody Gryffindor._

Sitting back, Regulus regarded his third pass at a letter with satisfaction. If only he could show it to his father – Lord Orion would be so proud.

"Kreacher!" Regulus called. His house elf appeared with a low bow and a smile.

"What does young master Regulus require?"

"Please deliver this to Cousin Bella as quickly as possible." He handed Kreacher the letter and patted the ancient house elf on the head. Kreacher had been in their family for over one hundred years, had seen the greatest men of the Black line come and go, but he seemed to have a soft spot for Regulus.

"Of course, master Regulus," Kreacher said. With another bow and a crack, he was gone.

* * *

Hermione awoke screaming, her subconscious benighted with memories of battles and death. It took her a moment to recognize the painfully familiar yet entirely foreign Gryffindor hangings of her new bed in her new/old dormitory.

_Thank Merlin I cast Silencing charms last night._

It was an old habit – the nightmares had been going on for years, for all of them. Casting _Silencio_ and _Muffliato_ was now as much a part of her bedtime routine as brushing her teeth.

Canceling the spell with a wave of her hand, Hermione crawled out of the bed and stretched. The sun had barely risen, but her body had awoken from habit. Still half-awake, she rummaged through her trunk for her workout clothes. Changing them for her pajamas, she left the tower and took a run around the ground.

_Being thrust into the past is no reason to let this perfectly good body go to waste._

She did not think as she ran. Her morning constitutional, as she liked to call it, was the only time the perpetual motion machine of her mind slowed to a leisurely swing, instead of a frantic tilt-a-whirl.

For someone who used to be such a couch potato (bookworm, hello!), Hermione had taken to running with enthusiasm. Unlike Harry and Ron, Hermione found running from the enemy to be a preferable alternative to death. And when Hermione found something to be worthwhile, she did it correctly.

Drenched in sweat, but blissfully memory-free, Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower as the early risers were descending the stairs. Nodding to them in a distantly friendly way, Hermione made her way back to her dorm and took a shower. Her body, still sore from the battle and covered in a number of bruises, appreciated the deluge of warm water immensely. She changed into a worn pair of jeans and a soft burgundy sweater before returning to the dorm.

Only the brunette who gravely introduced herself as Amelia Bones was awake. Hermione nodded to her with a wary smile that was not returned. Amelia gave her a measuring look before departing the dorm. Hermione sighed, but was also a bit pleased. She remembered Amelia as the aunt of her year-mate, Susan Bones, and as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The suspicious yet brainy young woman would probably be an asset in the battle against Voldemort.

Hermione knew, from her perusal of back-copies of the Daily Prophet, that at this point in history Voldemort was considered as merely an actor in the political arena. The wanton murder of Muggles, the targeting of Muggle-borns and their families, the slaying of ancient families (including the Bones and the Potters)... all that would come later. For now, the Dark Lord was just an aspirant to the Minister's role – though one with powerful backing.

What she didn't know was what she should do about it. The answer lay within her trunk, carefully hidden in the beaded bag. She extracted the letter and climbed back into her recently made bed (she had made her peace with the reality of house elf servitude, but she was not happy about it) to read in privacy.

_Hermione,_

_If you are reading this letter, then the worst has happened. Either Harry has won and the price was too great, or Tom succeeded and you feared for your life. I wish to reassure you that I know you did your best to prevent this outcome, and thank you for your loyal service to the Order and the Light._

_I am unsure where you will arrive in time to correct these events, however I must implore you to NOT_ _reveal your knowledge of future events to anyone you encounter. To do so would have untold repercussions, not to mention I am afraid that few would believe you and you would find yourself in a compromising situation. I hope that by your presence and talents, events might play out differently._

_We can not hope to know the ramifications of the Candle, but do know that the future has irrevocably been changed by your presence. I believe, as you must, that this is for the greater good._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She had seen the hefty missive Dumbledore sent himself, and was surprised that his letter to her was so brief. She had a thousand questions, none of which were answered. The biggest, of course, was would she be born? Would there be two Hermione Grangers in the world? Could she seek out her parents? What events was she allowed to interfere with? What about all her research and accelerated abilities? Not every sixteen-year-old was an expert in Arithmancy, or able to cast wandlessly and silently, or an Animagus.

Well, at least she was in good company here with that last one. She wondered if James and Sirius had mastered that ability yet.

"Hermione?" The curtains were pulled open and the oh-so familiar eyes of Lily Evans regarded her. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know if you were awake."

Hermione gave her a brief smile. She genuinely liked the other witch, at least what she knew of her so far. Though, some of that might just be because she was Harry's mother.

A horrible thought occurred to her. What if by her presence she kept Harry from being born?

"Hermione?" Lily repeated, looking worried. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, sorry," Hermione said, quickly stowing the letter in the pocket of her jeans. "Just a letter from... never mind."

Lily looked like she wanted to ask more, but again refrained. Hermione had to admire her restraint – if the situation were reversed, she would have been pestering the other girl for answers.

"Want to go down for breakfast?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Hermione said, leaving the bed and following Lily out of the dorm. Lily was dressed in jeans as well, since it was a weekend, and a green and white sweater that brought out her eyes. They exchanged small talk on the descent into the castle, but both fell silent as they entered the Great Hall.

Silence spread as they made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down at the end nearest the door. Hermione was used to it, though. She remembered the cave troll, and Quirrel, and all the times the school had shunned Harry and their other friends before they left the school. She calmly loaded her plate with eggs, toast, and sausages. It felt like ages since she had last eaten well. Lily was more disquieted, but emulated Hermione as best she could.

The rest of the house watched them curiously, though no one approached them. _Yet_. Gradually chatter picked up in the Hall again and Lily relaxed beside her. Being the center of attention must be hard for her. Hermione tried to give off an aura of friendliness, but none of her new housemates approached her. _Also a 'yet'._ Gryffindors might be bold, but they were also chivalrous. No one would bother her so close to her release from the infirmary.

Probably tomorrow, though.

After a few minutes of quiet eating, Lily set down her silverware with deliberation. She let out a long breath. Hermione smiled to herself. Harry did... had done the exact same thing when he was gathering his courage to ask a question that he was afraid would offend.

"Last night, you mentioned something about your parents," Lily said in a low voice. "Why haven't they come to see you? Or sent an owl for you? I know they're Muggles but-"

"It's hard to send owls when you're dead," Hermione said, laying down her own silverware and focusing on a point in the middle distance. "They were killed when I was thirteen. I was taken in by some family friends, who passed away recently. You could say I'm on my own."

When she could bring herself to look at Lily, she found herself overwhelmed by an empathetic gaze.

"Was it... was it You-Know-Who?"

Hermione shook her head. Answering truthfully would just open her up to more questions. Dumbledore had already compromised her by announcing to all who could listen that she was a Gryffindor – how could she be without a public Sorting?

_That's another thing I have to bring up when I speak to the Headmaster. Old codger._

"No, someone broke into our home and murdered them before they could phone the police."

Lily let out a shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry to ask, I've just been worried about my family lately. There's all this talk about blood and-"

"Abhorrent, isn't it?" Hermione asked.

Lily nodded fervently. "I couldn't agree more."


	7. Cloak and Doggy

A/N: So this chapter was also supposed to include some Lily/James action, but it was long enough. Something for everyone to look forward to in the next chapter. Just wanted to say thanks for all the follows and faves, glad to know others are enjoying this story as much as I am writing it! Also, please forgive the silly chapter title. I was going to call this something else, but, see explanation above.

* * *

Sirius was experiencing an unprecedented streak of bad luck. First, he'd received detention for his attempt to "unwittingly lure" Hermione's other well-wishers, and Madame Pomfrey, away from the hospital wing. It's not like he knew those bowtruckles would rip apart a priceless tapestry, now was it? He didn't really see how cleaning the Potions classroom, the Muggle way, for what amounted to the next nine hundred years was really a fitting crime, but then again McGonagall had always lacked a sense of poetic justice.

Like that time she'd given him detention for dumping cooking grease leftover from a particularly chips-heavy meal all over Snape. If that wasn't poetic, he didn't know what was.

So, he had missed any and all opportunities to approach Hermione once she was released from the hospital wing. He had neither seen her at lunch, nor witnessed Lily's fierce defense in the common room the night before. (What was that about anyway? Evans was nice enough, but tended to keep to herself.)

But not this morning, chap. He was up with the birds to make sure he didn't miss seeing Hermione at breakfast.

Okay, okay, so it was almost 9:30 and breakfast was almost over. But really, it was a Sunday with no Quidditch practice or pressing assignments. One can't be expected to wake up much earlier on a day with so little to do… besides grab the attention of a beautiful and mysterious girl.

The dorm was empty – Moony was probably already in the library (no doubt getting a jump start on this year's coursework), and Peter was nowhere to be found.

Actually, that had been Peter's status since they completed their Animagus ritual at James' house this summer. Odd.

As it was, Sirius made it down to the slowly emptying Great Hall just in time to witness McGonagall escorting Hermione from it. The younger witch was dressed in Muggle clothes that showed off her slight curves and the muscles in her legs as she walked. They were speaking softly to each other – the professor seemed to be encouraging Hermione, who looked a little down.

Sirius's gray eyes met her brown ones as she passed, and she gave him a small smile of recognition. His answering grin was probably a little too broad, a touch too eager, because it looked for a moment like she was going to laugh. Instead, her brow furrowed and she looked away as McGonagall led her away from the Great Hall towards a wing of first-floor classrooms.

"What do you reckon that's about?" James asked from behind him. Sirius jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of his best friend. He glared and James smirked back. Ever since achieving their Animagus forms, Sirius had experienced his dog-form's heightened sense of hearing and smell even when not transformed. James really enjoyed trying to fool both senses, and rarely succeeded.

"Dunno," Sirius said, letting his friend's success go. His eyes narrowed in thought. "But I'm going to find out."

Sirius spent most of his breakfast laughing obnoxiously loud with James in an effort to hide what he was actually doing: keeping an eye on the Head Table. Dumbledore was there, looking as benevolent as ever, but Sirius's keen eyes noticed the way the other teachers were slowly drifting out of the Great Hall and hanging an immediate right – the direction in which McGonagall had led Hermione.

"Should we follow them?" James asked in an undertone.

Sometimes it was scary how well his best friend knew him. Sirius flashed him a devil-may-care-grin.

"Prongs, I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Only Dumbledore remained at the Head Table when the two Gryffindors exited the Hall. They ducked into a hidden alcove behind a tapestry of a hunter slaying a manticore (in a rather gruesome fashion) and James slipped his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket. They had to hunch over a bit to make sure it covered their feet – both boys had shot up like weeds in the last two years – but thankfully they still fit underneath. James cast muffling spells on the both of them, since the cloak didn't cover sounds, and they stepped quickly (and not without great coordination) from behind the tapestry.

Dumbledore was coming down the hallway towards them, walking at his customary sedate pace. _Merlin, the man even makes putting one foot in front of the other look like a knowledgeable art. _For a brief second, Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the side of the hall where the two Gryffindors were concealed. A frown passed over his face, but it was gone before Sirius could be sure it was even there.

The Headmaster continued down the hall to an unused Charms classroom, which he entered. The boys slipped in behind him – he didn't shut the door very quickly – and took in the scene before them.

Hermione was seated at a desk at the front of the room, hunched over a piece of parchment. Her quill was flying like the eagle from which it had been plucked as McGonagall watched the last grains of sand fall in a charmed hourglass. The other professors were speaking quietly amongst themselves behind a transparent soundproof barrier to McGonagall's left, watching the young woman with interest.

"Time, Miss Granger," the Transfiguration professor said. Hermione let out a huff of air, but set her quill down all the same. She must have looked nervous, for McGonagall gave her a smile. "I'm sure you did well, dear."

"I've not had much in the way of theoretical lessons over the last three years," Hermione said as she rose from her solitary desk and approached McGonagall. "We were rather, um, practical in our studies."

Her voice shook with nerves, and Sirius found himself wanting to comfort her_. Circe's tits, what's wrong with me? I'm Sirius Black, the love 'em and leave 'em guy! I do not comfort women, well, not really._

Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because James gave him a quizzical look. Sirius flapped a hand at him, a clear 'later'.

"You strike me as someone who likes to know the _why_ as much as the _how_, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said from his place at the door. Hermione whirled around, wand out and ready. Sirius noticed she had stepped protectively in front of McGonagall.

The Headmaster quickly held up his hands, showing they were empty. Hermione lowered her wand, breathing heavily though her expression was calm.

"My friends always said I was too curious for my own good," Hermione agreed. "And you really shouldn't sneak up on a soldier, Headmaster. I hear it's bad for one's health."

Beneath the cloak, Sirius and James exchanged a confused glance. _Soldier?_

The old man chuckled. "I would do well to remember that. Now, I've given the matter a great deal of thought, and I believe that a practical demonstration of your abilities should suffice to place you in the correct classes for your aptitude level. The theory you can catch up on, but as I'm sure you know _control_ and _intent_ are the greatest things one can learn in this esteemed institution."

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue with the Headmaster, but after a moment shut her lips together firmly and nodded.

"Very well. Where do we start?"

Two hours later, Sirius and James had carefully seated themselves against the wall with their hands clamped over their mouths. They had to; otherwise they would not have stopped themselves whooping with joy.

Hermione was amazing with a wand in her hand. From what Sirius could tell (he would need Remus to confirm), she was performing seventh-year spells with ease. She had lasted ten minutes in a one-on-one duel with Dumbledore (with the appropriate parameters), correctly demonstrated every charm Professor Flitwick asked of her, accurately identified and named the ingredients in every potion presented to her by Slughorn, solved one of the most complicated Aritmantical formulas Sirius had ever seen, and completely impressed Professor Thorn in a discussion of Ancient Runes. The remaining teachers looked beyond impressed, and declined to test Hermione when offered the chance. Dumbledore was beaming, that ever-present twinkle in his eye shining very bright. McGonagall was beside herself, glad to have such an unexpected intelligent addition to her Lions.

"I think you have sufficiently proved yourself, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said once Thorn had given him a nod. "The other professors and I trust that your knowledge of Astronomy, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and History of Magic are sufficient to place you with the other sixth-years."

James and Sirius exchanged gleeful looks. They were sure to take the House Cup this year!

"More than sufficient, Albus," McGonagall said. "I believe Miss Granger is ready to sit her N.E. at this moment!"

A cloud passed over Dumbledore's face, surprising Sirius. _Was that annoyance?_ It was gone as quickly as it came, just like his frown in the hallway.

"Due to the nature of Miss Granger's arrival, I do not believe that would be wise. She will find that the school is the safest place for her at this moment." The other professors exchanged startled glances, unsure of Dumbledore's meaning. Hermione looked like she was barely restraining an incipient eye roll.

McGonagall agreed to loan Hermione schoolbooks for the coming year, instead of having her purchase new copies from Flourish and Blotts. With that decided, the other teachers took their leave.

"A word, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, raising his index finger. Hermione nodded and shot a smile at McGonagall, who was the last to leave.

"I'll send Miss Evans to collect you," McGonagall said as she closed the door. James perked up at the mention of his crush. Hermione called her thanks as the door closed.

"What can I do for you, Headmaster?" Hermione asked, leaning against the solitary desk.

"I simply wanted to let you know that I have contacted the Ministry to have you registered as a witch and to put through all the necessary identification paperwork. When you leave the school you should find pursuing a career to be a non-issue."

Hermione stiffened. "The only career I'm interested in pursuing, Headmaster, is ensuring that Tom Riddle ceases his persecution of the wizarding world."

_Who in Morgana's name was Tom Riddle?_

"I understand," Dumbledore said with a nod, "but you find yourself without funds and without allies. You will need money in order to live – what better way than to work for the world you seek to protect?"

"What if…" Hermione trailed off, looking into the distance. "What if we defeat him and I stop existing? There are so many questions I have, professor, and your letter didn't answer many of them."

"I do not know what I wrote to you," Dumbledore said with a shrug, "but the older I become, the more I find that the world is a strange, mysterious, but above all forgiving place. I should not worry yourself over something you cannot control, Miss Granger."

Sirius didn't know what to make of this conversation. There was something missing here, something to do with the mystery of Hermione's arrival. Of that, he was utterly sure.

He just wished he knew_ what_.

"But sir, the Elysian Candle. You know what kind of magic that was. I may not have made the candle, but I'm the one who lit it. They were banned by the Ministry for a reason, and though I've researched many Dark curses" (James stiffened beside him at the mention of Dark magic) "and their counterspells I can't find one for-"

"As I said, Miss Granger, worrying over something you cannot control is not healthy, nor is it helpful. You can do the most good by applying yourself to your studies now and assisting the order when you are out of Hogwarts."

Hermione bowed her head, but somehow Sirius didn't think it was in submission. Dumbledore didn't seem to think so either, but he continued on as if he did.

"I also wanted you to know that I have taken the liberty of making sure that no communication of your appearance at the Welcome Feast has made it to the outside world."

Hermione's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Do you mean to say you've gone through student mail?"

"It was for the best," Dumbledore said, managing to put a great heaviness and reluctance in his voice. Hermione didn't seem to be buying it, but she nodded anyway. There was a knock at the door.

"Hermione?" Lily Evans said, popping her head in the doorway. "I was going to take a walk on the grounds, care to join?"

The brunette smiled, and Sirius's breath caught. Merlin, she had a beautiful smile that took up her whole face. Her eyes twinkled, so much more honestly than Dumbledore's (_Where did that thought come from?_), and two adorable dimples creased her face.

"Are we done here, professor?" she asked Dumbledore. The ancient wizard nodded, and Hermione flew to Evans as if she had been Summoned.

"Did you pass?" Sirius heard Evans ask.

"Yeah, but I'm still worried about-" Hermione's response faded as she moved down the hall with her apparent new best friend.

After a moment's contemplation, Dumbledore too left the classroom. The boys waited five minutes to make sure he wasn't coming back before taking the cloak off and cancelling the silencing charms.

"I knew it," James said. "I knew it had to be some sort of Dark magic to let her into the school like that. Nothing can get through the Hogwarts wards without being completely underhanded."

At one point in history, the Potter clan had been numerous. Several main branches retained the family surname, while others contained the heritage of Godric Gryffindor matrilineally. That all changed with Grindelwald. It was said that he ran afoul of Archibald Potter, James' grandfather, as a young man, and that he had a deep-seated grudge against his family. His record seemed to indicate the truth of such a story, for one by one each branch of the Potter family tree was viciously pruned. By the end of the Great Wizarding War, only young Charlus Potter and his wife, Dorea Black, remained. Though teenagers, they had been determined to start a family and return the Potter name to its former prevalence.

Six miscarriages later, it seemed that Grindelwald had well and truly cursed the Potters in perpetuity. Until James was born one early spring day, it seemed like the Potter line would die with Charlus's generation. His parents often called him their miracle, and spoiled him rotten. Though Dorea was known to have dabbled in the Dark Arts (some whispered that James himself was the product of a Dark ritual, performed in desperation), James hated anything not of the light.

"Just because she used a Dark spell doesn't mean-"

"Don't give me that, Pads. Once you use a Dark spell, it gets in your soul."

"Hermione isn't-"

"Padfoot, I know you like her. I get that. Girl appears in the Hall injured, very damsel in distress-y. But she's a Dark witch, cousin. She has to be, there's no other explanation."

"If she's Dark then why is Dumbledore helping her?" That brought James up short. His brow furrowed in thought, while Sirius raced ahead. "She wants to destroy someone who is hurting the wizarding world. Don't you think she was talking about You-Know-Who?"

"She said Tom Riddle. As far as I know, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never been called that."

Sirius shrugged. "Bastard had to come from somewhere. No one names their kid Vol-Vol… you know what I mean. All I'm saying is, let's give her a chance before we start claiming she's the next Morgan le Fay, okay?"

James's jaw was set stubbornly, but he nodded. "She gets three chances, Padfoot. And that was mistake number one."


	8. One of the Girls

A/N: Yes, yes, I know, long time no post. My fiance and I just adopted a puppy and have been rather busy. At least it's for a cute reason.

Anyhow, fluff and stuff ahead. Some sad things, mostly happy ones. The next chapter should be a little more slash and spell, and bring all our romantic parties together. Also, fair warning, my original conception for Dumbledore in this fic was to have him be good but misguided. That is, um, no longer the case. So gird your loins, ladies and gents.

* * *

Lily and Hermione spent most of Sunday afternoon wandering the grounds, talking about all the gaps in Hermione's education. Hermione learned that Lily was rather adept at Charms and Potions, disliked History of Magic because it was learning by rote and therefore presented no intellectual challenge, and that she disagreed with Hermione's dislike of Divination.

"Even Muggles can tell the future from time to time," Lily argued. "My sister and I visited one the year that I got my Hogwarts letter and the psychic told me I would have a very interesting year ahead."

Hermione rolled her eyes and wordlessly conjured a cigarette, lighting it absent-mindedly with her wand. It was a bad habit she had picked up from Sirius during their time at Grimmauld Place. While she was not addicted, the action of smoking helped calm her.

Also wizards didn't get cancer, so there was that.

"Lily, I don't know you that well, but honestly I know that you're smarter than that. Those people are frauds who use platitudes that could fit into anyone's life experience. Almost every child has a very 'interesting' year, at least by their standards."

"But she said I would get a life-changing communication!" Hermione took a long drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke, away from Lily.

"That could have been anything – your parents explaining sex, a boy passing a note to say he likes you. I doubt she knew you were going to receive a letter inviting you to the only magical school in the United Kingdom."

Lily sighed. "Let's just agree to disagree, yeah? There's more things in heaven and earth and all that jazz."

Hermione nodded. She did not relish setting aside an argument, especially with someone as intelligent as Lily, but she also wanted to stay on the good side of the witch who was rapidly becoming her friend.

"Can I have one of those?" Lily asked, pointing at the cigarette. Hermione smiled.

"You don't think it's a filthy Muggle habit that should be looked down upon by all of wizardkind."

Now it was Lily's turn to roll her eyes. "If you're going to look all rebellious then so am I."

Hermione chuckled as she wordlessly Conjured another cigarette and handed it to Lily, who after a few tries with her wand was able to light it. Harry's mother was turning out to be less and less like she thought she would be. Harry had always held up this image of his mother as prim and popular, smart enough to run with the Marauders but strong enough to lay down the law. From what Hermione had seen, that version of his mother was a fantasy. Lily did not appear to have many friends, and she stayed far away from James and his friends.

They steered their conversation back to safer topics, and the two witches made their way back to the common room with the intention of getting Hermione caught up on the homework from the days she was unconscious. Naturally, as soon as they entered the portrait hole they were assaulted by the girls in their year who insisted on some "bonding time" in their dorm. Hermione barely had time to register Sirius's curious gray eyes watching her as she was dragged up the stairs to the sixth-year girls' dormitory.

Though the dorm was similar to the one Hermione had spent three years in, there was one key difference. In the center of the room was a large, round wooden table with oval brass name plates bearing each girl's first name placed near the middle of the table. Beneath each name plate, towards the edges of the table, lay piles of clothes. Hermione noted that there were many more clothes beneath Bridget and Hestia's name plates than anyone else's.

Marlene McKinnon, the tall girl with long wavy black hair, gestured to the table proudly. "You'll not see this in any other girls' dorm," she exclaimed. "This is our Sharing Table."

"It's how we exchange clothes between us, so our wardrobes never get dull," Hestia Watson, the blonde with hair so shiny it looked like a wheat field, explained. "We share everything – dress robes, uniforms, Muggle clothes-"

"You do have some of those, right?" Bridget O'Flaherty asked, looking at Hermione with blue eyes full of interest. "Lily of course has some, being Muggle-born and all, but her fashion isn't..." she trailed off as the three pureblood witches exchanged glances.

Lily rolled her eyes. "They think I dress too conservatively." Hermione snorted. In the wizarding world, land of perpetual Victorian virtue, that was saying something.

Hermione steeled herself. "Well, I can't promise my clothes are much better, but..." she went to her trunk and started dragging out long-forgotten dresses and blouses. They still fit for the most part, since she had stopped growing when she was thirteen, but to her eyes the outfits were a little young-looking. Since the uptick in battles over the last two months she had rarely worn anything other than her jeans, a dark shirt, and her dragon-hide jacket.

The next two hours were excruciating, especially for someone like Hermione (who had spent the last three years primarily in the company of boys and men). Hestia and Marlene both insisted on seeing everything in Hermione's small wardrobe. They asked where she had gotten such tight (unfashionable) pants. She lied and said they were all the rage in Muggle London, something which Lily thankfully did not contradict.

All four girls remarked upon how many long-sleeved shirts Hermione had. ("Honestly, it's like she's never heard of vests," Marlene said to Bridget in an undertone.) Unconsciously, Hermione's hand drifted to her scarred right arm. The word 'Mudblood' was just as legible as the day it was carved there by Bellatrix, about six months ago when Hermione had participated in a rescue mission to get Ollivander and Luna from Voldemort's clutches. She was the only of their rescue party that was caught, and thanks to some quick thinking and wandless magic she was able to escape after only three bouts of the Cruciatus curse.

Normally Hermione was proud of her battle scars, and she had a fair few since Dark curses had a way of sticking to the skin, but that one was still a little fresh and drew too many questions. The only time she had seen pity in her friends' eyes was when they saw that word, or heard it from the mouth of a bigot like Malfoy, and she would do many things to prevent others from feeling sorry for her. She was Hermione Jean Granger, brightest witch of the age and valued member of the Order. She needed pity from no one.

(At least, that's what she told herself.)

Hermione glanced around the room, feeling strangely at ease. She had never had moments like this with her old dorm mates, Parvati and Lavender. While nice girls, they were not able to connect with Hermione, nor she with them, when they were eleven. That awkwardness had carried through until Hermione left school. She told herself at the time that she had bigger things to worry about than friendship with two, in her opinion, silly girls, but looking back she wondered if she had been missing something. That life her parents and friends (okay, probably just her subconscious) asked her to live.

The tableau before her was certainly 'normal', at least for Hogwarts. Lily and Marlene were debating the merits of one of Hermione's lower-cut shirts (a birthday gift from Tonks), Hestia was trying to squish her slightly more ample thighs into a pair of Hermione's pants, and Bridget was flipping through an issue of _Witch Weekly_.

Amelia, who had been just as unwilling to attend bonding time as Hermione, sat on her bed with a large book of Defense spells in front of her. Her beady brown eyes moved quickly over the pages, pausing now and then at an interesting passage. She was waving her wand occasionally, practicing the movements that went with each spell. Hermione recognized the method, one she used herself while studying as it was much safer than casting unsupervised.

As the girls debated who could borrow Hermione's jeans first, she wandered over to the studying witch and carefully sat down on her bed. "Find anything interesting?" she asked. Amelia looked up, sharply.

"More interesting than _fashion_? Perish the thought." Hermione laughed.

"Indeed. Is that the text for this year?"

Amelia raised the book so Hermione could see the cover: _Magical Defense, a Compendium_. "No, this is something my brother Edgar gave to me for practice, in addition to my schooling. He always says a wise witch is prepared for all eventualities."

"He sounds like a smart man," Hermione said.

"He is," Amelia agreed. She considered Hermione for a moment. "Are you an undercover Auror?"

"What?" In hindsight, Hermione's response should probably not have been quite so high-pitched, or so loud.

"You can tell me if you are. My brother is in Auror training right now and he's told me as much as he can about the underground movement against You-Know-Who. It would make sense – there are Death Eaters recruiting among the students, why not the Aurors?"

"How do you know that Death Eaters are recruiting?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes. She was so engrossed in the conversation that she hadn't noticed the other girls were now silent. "Have you been approached?"

"No, but I am a pureblood, and we hear things. They approached my brother after graduation, and said-" she paused. "If you are not an Auror, then I should not be sharing these things with you. I barely know you."

Hermione sighed. Being an undercover Auror would save a lot of questions during the school year, but was not a viable path long-term. After all, it only took a firecall to confirm that she was not part of the DMLE.

"I'm not, but I've spent the last few years committed to making sure that snake of a man does not end up as the next Minister of Magic. I can assure you that anything you say to me will remain in confidence."

"What about them?" Amelia said, pointing over Hermione's shoulder at the other girls. Hermione turned around to see the wide-eyed stares of the other girls.

"You spent the last few years fighting You-Know-Who?" Marlene asked breathlessly.

"His name is Voldemort-" (cue the screams) "and yes, in a manner of speaking. My friends and I were doing what we could to make sure that he doesn't drag this world into darkness."

"Where are your friends now?" Hestia asked, just as breathless as Marlene. Hermione averted her gaze to her trunk, to the bag hidden within it.

"They're dead."

Hermione looked away, afraid of the pity she knew she would see in their eyes, so she missed the glances between the other girls. Bridget and Hestia looked a little fearful, while the other three found their Gryffindor courage and chivalry.

"I'm sorry," Amelia said. "We didn't know." Marlene raised an eyebrow at Lily. Amelia was _never_ the first to console anyone.

Hermione shrugged. "No, you couldn't have."

Nothing quite puts a damper on girl time like the mention of death, so Marlene suggested they head down to dinner.

* * *

The first full week of classes passed quickly for Lily. Her assignments were challenging, the class discussion a little more invigorating now that they were at N.E.W.T. level, and for the first time since she was eleven she felt like she fit in somewhere. Her relationships with her year-mates had always been a little distant, friendly but distant, with the notable exception of Marlene. Now all five girls had a cause to unite them: Hermione Granger.

The girl was obviously brilliant – even a day of classes revealed that. Slughorn was beside himself over the Memory Restorative she brewed during Monday's double period, and she got the hang of their assigned Conjuration spell faster than anyone (even Lily, who was considered the brightest in their year). Lily reveled in their discussions of Charms theory and was slightly jealous of Hermione's way with Arithmancy.

It was more than their shared love of knowledge that drew Lily to Hermione. As Muggle-borns, they shared a similar experience with the wizarding world. The only person who could even begin to relate to Lily was Severus, and he had known of magic all his life. It was nice to have someone laugh at her Muggle jokes, or even banter back.

For all her brilliance and wry sense of humor, Hermione was obviously a bit damaged. In other Houses this might have led to bullying or avoidance, but not in Gryffindor. Lily would have it no other way. After Sunday's bonding time, the five Lions found ways to spend as much time with Hermione as possible. Hestia, the epitome of every blonde joke Lily had ever heard, managed to wrestle Hermione in front of a mirror each morning to help her tame that bush she called a hairstyle. Bridget filled Hermione in on all the gossip in the school – who was dating who, which boys were bad news, where the latest place to sneak off and drink firewhiskey was. Marlene joined in these conversations with verve, adding a pureblood political perspective that was, if nothing else, enlightening.

Lily stifled her laughter behind her hand during the latest conversation on Thursday night at dinner, for two reasons. First, Hermione was sending pleading looks towards both her and Amelia (who could be counted on to participate in less frivolous conversations). Second, Sirius Black had been sending increasingly longing looks towards Hermione all week. To the best of Lily's knowledge, the two had not spoken much since Black heroically carried her up to the Hospital Wing the night of the Welcome Feast. It was not for lack of trying on his part. Lily thought the other girls were trying to keep him away from Hermione – he was right at the top of Bridget's list of "No-Goodnicks".

The boys had been just as welcoming to Hermione as the girls. _Well, at least Remus has_, Lily thought with an absent-minded smile. Of the four Marauders, she found Remus Lupin to be the most tolerable, even if he did disappear every so often. He was the best choice as Gryffindor's male prefect from their year, and quite brilliant academically. Her opinion of him had risen even higher when he was so welcoming to Hermione, who seemed quite fond of him already. She wondered if Hermione had a crush on him, but dismissed the thought. Hermione did not seem like the kind of girl who had 'crushes'. She liked a boy or she did not, simple as that.

A lot like Lily herself, really. She had gone on a few dates with Severus in fourth year, but admitted to him (and herself) that there was nothing romantic there before things had gone too far. There had been a few dates with Crispin Clearwater, a Ravenclaw in the year ahead of him, but those too had gone nowhere beyond a few simple kisses.

Like any teenage girl, Lily Evans was ready to bet swept off her feet by a boy who might actually care about her mind as well as her body. Unfortunately, it seemed like Hogwarts would not be the place for her to find someone who could do so.

Lily's gaze slid over to Potter, who was of course staring at her with a little smile on his face. Again. She rolled her eyes and put down her fork, since she was done with dinner.

"Library, Hermione? I know you wanted to get started on that essay for Charms." Bridget stopped mid-flow and looked at Lily with surprise.

"Can't you forget about schoolwork for one night, Evans? We were supposed to have girl-time tonight, remember?" Marlene and Hestia turned towards her, equally shocked. Hermione, however, drew a relieved breath.

"Oh, but I really need to get started on that essay," Hermione told the others. "Flitwick said it is so crucial to the other spells we'll be learning in the N.E.W.T. courses this year."

Marlene sighed in a resigned way. "I'll allow it this time, Granger, but you and Evans had better be back in the common room in two hours or I will do something drastic."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like spell all the sleeves off those long-sleeve t-shirts you wear. Honestly, don't you come from somewhere with summer?" Hermione's eyes widened dramatically.

"Very well, we'll be back in two hours. Come on Lily." She jumped up from her seat and practically sprinted from the hall, dragging a confused Lily behind her. Why did Hermione wear so many long-sleeved shirts anyway? She did not see James Potter rise to his feet to follow them.


	9. Scars and Trajectories

A/N: So I have many plotlines that I'm trying to wrangle together into something coherent, thanks for being patient with me. There's a confrontation between Hermione and James on the horizon, and Peter's gonna put his foot in it... but that's just a tidbit to keep you interested.

The runes that save Hermione are inspired by my favoritest show ever, Supernatural. Enochian for the win.

Big shout out to **Rose blood and fire**, who took the time to review each chapter as she read. I have many old English teachers who would be proud of you. Glad you like my badass Hermione.

Thanks to all those who have taken the time to review so far, I really appreciate your input and encouragement.

* * *

Hermione spent most of the walk to the library cursing Bellatrix Lestrange her penchant for cursed weapons. She absentmindedly ran her hand over her right arm, feeling the raised letters beneath even through the thick weave of her uniform jumper. She had scoured the Black family library at Grimmauld Place shortly after her rescue from Malfoy Manor, but had not found any glamour strong enough to cover the hated scars.

As she seated herself at her favorite study spot, Lily disappeared into the ancient wooden stacks to find the reference materials they would need to complete their Charms essay. Hermione let her mind drift into memory.

_Shortly after Christmas, a distinguished eagle owl made its way through the wards surrounding Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. The owl, belonging to Lucius Malfoy, contained a ransom note for two much-needed allies of the Order: Garrick Ollivander, the renowned wandmaker, and Luna Lovegood, a budding Seer and friend to the youngest members of the Order._

"_We have to rescue them," Harry declared during the nightly meeting in the dreary kitchen. "Ollivander knows too much about the Elder Wand, and Luna's predictions are still coming at odd times. There is no telling how useful she will be to Voldy Shorts."_

_A few people raised objections. Remus, while fond of Luna, did not think that it was worth the risk at that time. They were still searching for the remaining three Horcruxes – the locket, the cup, and Nagini – and he felt that any other missions would be detrimental to the final goal. Snape was of the opinion that the Hallows did not matter, nor did the lives of those idiotic enough to be caught by the other Death Eaters. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he had been in the party that captured the wandmaker and the Seer._

_Dumbledore overruled both men, insisting that a rescue mission should be planned and carried out as quickly as possible. Then again, he was the one obsessed with Hallows. The Resurrection Stone still gleamed in the ring on his withered arm, and he occasionally borrowed Harry's cloak for "inspection". Hermione wondered if anyone else had yet figured out what the Stone was, or what Harry's Cloak really was, and if they had not then when she should tell them._

_Her brown eyes met the twinkling blue gaze of Dumbledore, and his grandfatherly manner fell for a moment as he noticed her gaze on his ring. Beneath the indulgent chuckles and love of candy lay the mind of a strategist, who had had over a century to dissociate himself from the cares of younger and less-experienced witches and wizards. _

Guess I should put off telling the others then, until the moment is more prudent._ Hermione was loyal to her friends and the Light, but she was not stupid. In war, timing is everything._

_A week later they were ready. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Moody and the twins would sneak onto the Malfoy property after Snape lowered the appropriate wards. Moody, the twins and Harry would take the brunt of the battle while Ron and Hermione found the prisoners and escorted them to safety. It was simple, elegant, and foolproof._

_Unfortunately, they were bigger fools than previously anticipated._

_Ron managed to get Luna and Ollivander away, but Hermione was captured by Bellatrix and Lucius. Though she knew they disliked each other, the Dark wizard and witch moved together seamlessly in battle. With a few well-placed curses Hermione, who was still not as skilled as Harry despite all her knowledge, fell to their combined might._

_Bellatrix tortured Hermione for an hour, first about the plans of the Order and then just for fun. Lucius had watched until he grew bored. _

"_Do stop playing with your food, sister," he muttered as Bellatrix ended her third Cruciatus. "You will ruin your appetite." Hermione curled up into a ball, trying to control her sobs. _

"_Ah, you are right of course," Bellatrix said, sheathing her wand. "It's time for the main course."_

_Well, you can guess what happened next._

_Hermione gazed at her bleeding arm as shouts rang out in the house above her. Bellatrix's head turned towards the door and Hermione seized her chance. She wandlessly Summoned her wand from Lucius's pocket and scrambled to her feet, wand trained on the blonde Death Eater._

"_Protego Maxima," she whispered. She'd learned long ago not to waste her breath yelling spells – they were just as effective at a lower volume._

_Malfoy sneered as Bellatrix laughed. "Oh, the silly little Mudblood thinks she can hold her own!" _

"_We are the most powerful of the Dark Lord's followers, you idiotic chit," Malfoy said. "What chance could you possibly have against us?"_

_Hermione glanced at the ground, where a puddle of her own blood had collected. She was getting lightheaded – the curse on Bellatrix's knife kept her cuts from healing for a while – but not faint enough to forget a useful piece of Old magic. One that she hoped the Malfoy wards would not hold against._

_Knowing that her shield would hold, Hermione knelt and began drawing symbols on the ground with her blood. _

"_Silly Mudblood! Now is not the time for art!" Bellatrix laughed. She threw a couple powerful Reductor curses at Hermione's shield, which thankfully held. Malfoy however, realized what Hermione was doing as she sketched the last sigil._

"_No!" he shouted as Hermione pressed her hand to the center-most of the five symbols on the ground._

"_Bye bye," Hermione sing-songed as the runes carried her back home._

"Hermione?" Lily asked. Hermione shook herself.

"What?"

"Sorry, you just looked... never mind." Lily dropped the heavy reference tomes on the table and took the seat next to Hermione, fully prepared to work. Hermione glanced around the library, drawing in the familiar comforting scent of knowledge and time. Among the books and the minds of the great she was safe, nothing could touch her here.

"Are you alright?" Lily asked, glancing up from her as-yet blank parchment. "I hope that Marlene didn't upset you?"

There was another question there, one that Lily was not ready to ask and one Hermione was certainly not ready to answer. Hermione smiled a little crookedly at her friend.

"She did, but I really don't want to talk about it right now. I'll tell you some day, okay?"

Lily gave her a level look. "When?"

Hermione sighed. "Before Christmas, I promise. I just, I just need some time to prepare mentally, okay?"

Lily raised one expressive eyebrow, but nodded. "Okay, Hermione."

James was in a state when he met up with his fellow Marauders in their dormitory. Sirius and the others had been sitting on their beds pursuing individual interests: Remus studying for their first Potions exam, Peter writing a letter to his mum, and Sirius daydreaming about Hermione. Again.

A week since her appearance and the girl was still an enigma to him. He had barely been able to speak to her in the last week – she was always surrounded by the other girls from their dorm, and in class she either sat with Lily or Remus. He did not know _why_ she appeared to be so fond of his friend, but he did know that he did not like it. Not one bit.

"She's hiding something," James declared as he threw the door open, startling the other three.

"Who is?" Peter asked.

"Granger," James responded, tossing his schoolbag on his bed. "And some day soon, before Christmas at least, she's going to tell Evans what that is."

Sirius rolled his eyes. James had been spying on Evans _again_. All his advice on how to not be creepy was clearly going in one ear and out the other.

"James," Remus said in a warning tone of voice. As their resident prefect, it was his charge to curb James's more dramatic tendencies. In Sirius's opinion, he did not do a good job. Then again, Sirius was usually the one egging him on.

"No, Remus, I overheard them in the library. I am not making this up, I swear to you."

Remus and Sirius exchanged exasperated glances. In the last week James had been circumspect in knowing where Hermione was at all times, watching her carefully for any signs of Dark magic or tendencies. He watched her interactions with Lily's Slytherin friend, Snape, particularly closely. Sirius knew what his friend was hoping to find, and was relieved (though he barely admitted that to himself) that he had not yet found it.

"James, when are you going to let this drop?" Sirius asked. His best friend rounded on him, that determined glint in his eye that usually meant a daring prank would be pulled, nay-sayers be damned! Usually Sirius was happy to see that glint, but not today.

"When I know for sure she is not a Dark witch," James said. "Voldemort is out there, recruiting right now. You've all seen what I've seen – this incredibly powerful witch drops out of the bloody sky in the middle of Hogwarts, she knows spells that she has no business knowing..." James trailed off, stepping closer to Sirius. "You saw what I saw, Padfoot. You heard what I heard. Why are we disagreeing here?"

Sirius drew himself up to his full height. He was a bit shorter than James, though broader in the shoulder. "She said she had _researched_ Dark curses, not performed them."

"Why else would she be researching except to use them?"

"She said she was a soldier! I doubt Dumbledore would be offering asylum to the girl if she was a Death Eater!"

"Am I missing something here?" Remus asked, gently pushing the two Gryffindors apart. James glanced at Sirius, who sighed and nodded his assent, and then quickly explained how they had followed Hermione to her testing, and what their conclusions were. Until now Sirius had been able to keep James from sharing this knowledge with the other Marauders. Something within him said that Hermione's demonstration of her powers was a secret to be guarded, that she needed to be protected.

_Although, why would she need to be protected from my friends? Maybe James, but why the others?_

"I agree with James," Peter said. "She definitely sounds Dark to me." Sirius glared at him, and to his surprise the smaller boy did not cower.

"I don't know," Remus said. "She doesn't seem like the kind to be Dark."

"You're just saying that because she has a crush on you," Peter said, surprising Sirius with the snarl in his voice as much as the content of his declaration.

"What?" Sirius said, glaring at his werewolf friend. Remus blushed.

"She has only been friendly, Padfoot, as you've seen. I doubt she has a crush on me."

"I bloody well hope not," Sirius said. "If she's going to have a crush on anyone around here, it's me!"

"So that's why you won't believe me!" James yelled. "You still have feelings for her."

"Let's all just calm down," Remus said, but the other two ignored him.

"I think you're just being unreasonable, Prongs," Sirius said. "There is no proof she is Dark, you're just so determined because of what everyone says about your mother-"

James's wand was pointed at Sirius's face so quickly he barely had time to blink. "Don't you _dare_ say anything against my mother, Sirius. Not after everything my family has done for you."

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Fine. I owe it to Lady Potter to refrain from repeating those assuredly erroneous accusations. But James, I'm begging you, leave Hermione alone. She's fragile, even you can see that. Give up this three strikes business and just leave her be."

James sighed and ran his hand through his messy black hair, causing the strands to stick up as if he had just dismounted from his broom. "I will give it up, _for now_. But if I have even the faintest suspicion that she's Dark, I promise you I will look into it."

Sirius was unhappy with his friend's persistence, but he nodded. He excused himself, unable to handle being in the dorm with James at the moment, and made his way down to the common room. Finding a seat by the fire, Sirius set to brooding. He did not indulge in this sort of behavior often, but when he did he could brood with the best of them.

There was no way Hermione was a Dark witch. There was such an aura of goodness about her, and his instinct to protect her could not be stirred by someone who was evil, who had turned from the Light and wished harm to others for the sake of causing pain. Sirius was familiar with Dark witches – his mother was one, his cousins were... hell his whole family was nothing but Dark. How could James doubt his assessment?

_Well, it's not like his judgment is the clearest when it comes to that._

Sirius knew that James's mother had dabbled in the Dark Arts, before she married Charlus Potter at the very least and probably during the early days of their marriage as well. Charlus was an open-minded sort of man (losing one's entire family tended to bring out the survival instincts), and accepted the love of his life in all her shades of Light and Dark. So if the whispers were that their troubles conceiving were solved by a Dark ritual, who was Sirius (or anyone else) to judge?

"Sirius?" The Marauder jumped out of his seat, startled by the one voice he most longed to hear. "Are you alright?" Hermione's sweet brown eyes were shaded with worry.

"Yes, yes of course," Sirius said, trying to smile for her. "How are you, Hermione? I feel that I've barely seen you at all this past week."

To his great delight, Hermione blushed. "Sorry about that, I get really into my studies sometimes, and the girls have been really... welcoming." She made a face.

"Gossiping your ears off, aren't they?" Sirius asked with a knowing grin. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Though I shouldn't even be speaking to you, Mr. No-Goodnik."

Sirius laughed. "So, Marlene gave you her list, did she? She's just bitter our two dates to Hogsmeade didn't turn into something more." He waved a hand dismissively as Hermione chuckled.

"Oh, so you aren't the love-em and leave-em guy that I've heard so much about? Is there another Sirius Black running about Hogwarts then?" Hermione turned on the spot, as if searching the common room for an elusive man-slag.

To his great surprise, her words hurt him. He knew what the girls said about him – though he had only slept with one or two girls, they tended to exaggerate in their gossiping to each other. His reputation as a good kisser was well-deserved (as were his other accolades), but he had to admit that his _conquests_ were not as numerous as gossip said. For the first time in his life, this insinuation seemed to be working against him instead of for him. Usually girls were lined up around the block just to kiss him.

"I may leave, but no "'em" is unsatisfied when I do," Sirius said in a haughty manner. Hermione laughed a little, but he could see the disapproval in her eyes.

"Haven't found a girl worth staying for then, Sirius?

What kind of man would Hermione want? Did she want someone like Remus, who was always respectful and even a bit dull? She certainly wasn't the type to wilt at the first smooth line that fell from his lips. No, Hermione was smart, sarcastic, and not the kind to take any of his crap.

Sirius was at a complete loss as how to woo her.

His confusion must have shown on his face. "Don't worry, Sirius, I know you're a good man," Hermione said, eyes soft and all teasing gone from her voice as she took a step closer to him. "And a few youthful indiscretions should not determine the entire trajectory of your love life."

Sirius laughed a little, again surprised by the deep effect her words were having on him. "How do you know I'm a good man and not some lothario?" Hermione made a face.

"You volunteered to take care of me, a stranger who appeared under mysterious circumstances, when you could have easily sat with the rest of the student body and watched the scene unfold. You're a man of action, Sirius Black, as all truly good men are." She smiled at him, and his answering grin was small and hopeful.

She saw good things in him. She did not give much credence to the gossip she heard. Most importantly, she had started a conversation with _him_, and not the other way around. He opened his mouth, ready to ask her to accompany him to the next Hogsmeade trip, when Hestia called for Hermione across the common room.

"I have to go," Hermione said. "But we should talk more later, yeah?"

Sirius nodded. "I'd like that. After dinner tomorrow we could, I don't know, walk down by the lake?" He attempted to affect nonchalance, and was not entirely sure that he succeeded. Hermione gave him a knowing smile.

"A walk down by the lake, huh?" she said with a sly grin.

"Just a walk, nothing more," Sirius insisted. It was the opposite of what he would have normally done with a girl (where a walk down by the lake really meant finding the nearest broom cupboard). Maybe that's what she wanted?

"I'd like that," Hermione said as Hestia's summons grew more insistent. "I'll see you later."

Sirius watched her join her year-mate with a grin on his face.


	10. Beneath Birches

A/N: Don't you hate re-reading your work and discovering continuity errors? This is what copy editors are for. Sigh. Everyone is sixteen, some going on seventeen, and I'm just stating that to assuage my own guilty conscience.

Fic rec: "Roundabout Destiny" by Mary Royale. I have been re-reading this almost non-stop since discovering it two weeks ago, easily one of my favorite Hermione time travel stories. Go read it now!

Reviewers/follower/favoriters – thank you! You keep me motivated. Let me know what you think of my budding Sirius/Hermione romance.

A few disclaimers: smoking is bad. Underage drinking/drinking to excess is bad, especially while melancholy. Don't have sex til you're married. (Or emotionally connected, or bored... wait, I'm invalidating this disclaimer. No sex til you're married!) Eat your vegetables and brush your teeth.

* * *

The next time the Dark Lord summoned him, Lucius was reviewing the first quarter profits of his family's company, Malfoy's Magicks. His father had been in ill-health of late – the Healers thought he had contracted dragon pox, unusual for a wizard in his late fifties but not unheard of – and Lucius was now head of the family and the company in all but name. Narcissa was proud of him, as was his mother, but Lucius was stretched too thin to feel anything but weariness.

His Mark burned painfully, indicating that Voldemort was impatient. Concentrating on the fine thread of pain that connected his soul to the Dark Lord's, Lucius apparated through the wards around his Wiltshire manor. He immediately knelt upon landing in the vicinity of his master, inwardly smirking over his smooth and almost soundless appearance, and noted that they were in some dirty hovel. Not really the kind of place where a society made of the finest wizardkind had to offer should meet, but Lucius knew better than to voice his protestations. Voldemort's _Crucio_ was the most painful version of the spell he had ever encountered, worse than Abraxas Malfoy's by a wide margin.

Five 'pops' later, the Death Eaters were assembled and the Dark Lord spoke. "Much better this time, I am pleased. There are a few urgent matters to discuss this evening, and then I have tasks for a select few of my most capable Death Eaters. Firstly, darling Bella, have you communicated with your young relative?"

Lucius's sister-in-law nodded. "Regulus was most clever in his correspondence, my Lord. I am amazed that this information has not come to light previously, but Reggie thought to send his letter by house elf instead of owl." She giggled girlishly. "The Blacks are all clever like that."

Voldemort smiled, however his red eyes were bored. "Yes, they are a fine example of what every pureblooded family should aspire to be." Bellatrix blushed. "And what did _darling_ Reggie have to say?"

"Well, my Lord, a girl appeared in the middle of the Welcome Feast in a flash of golden light. She handed a letter to the Headmaster, and now she has been Sorted into Gryffindor." Murmurs burst out among the Death Eaters, but they were silenced with a glare from Voldemort. "Regulus believes she must have entered the castle by Dark means, since, as one of his professors stated, there is no way to simply appear on the grounds of Hogwarts."

"Which teacher?" Lucius rolled his eyes behind his mask, thankful that Voldemort's back was to him. His master's obsession with the school was completely out of proportion to its importance.

"He did not say, my Lord." Voldemort nodded.

"And he was certain that this was the only possible source of Dark magic at Hogwarts that evening?"

"That is the clever part, my Lord. Regulus suggested that her appearance might have been a cover for Darker events-" Lucius snorted delicately, and Bellatrix glared at him. Lucius had no love for his wife's cousins. Walburga was insane, Orion henpecked, Sirius spoiled and arrogant... actually, Regulus had the most potential out of the whole family, if he grew to be a man of conviction. But his suggestion was in no way clever or likely to be true.

"Unlikely," the Dark Lord said, with a quelling glare at Lucius. "But an interesting theory. Did he say anything else?"

"Only that the girl is rumored to be brilliant with a wand. And also that she is a _Mudblood_." More murmurs, louder this time. Voldemort sneered in distaste.

"Very well, you have given me much to ponder. We will discuss this at a later time." He stood a little straighter and continued. "I believe it is time for us to forward our true agenda: to make wizards the predominant race upon this earth. It is now time for us to begin to assert our authority over _Muggles_ by more... direct means."

The Death Eaters cheered, and Lucius nodded. That was the most excitement it was decorous to show, after all. His life had been so stressful of late, and now, finally, it was time for some fun!

* * *

Friday looked to be the last nice day Hogwarts would have that year – cool, crisp, with fluffy clouds scooting across the autumn sky. Hermione had butterflies in her stomach all day, mind racing ahead to her scheduled after-dinner walk about the lake with Sirius.

It wasn't a date.

It wasn't a date!

...Right?

Hermione knew _all_ about Sirius's past with women – the man himself had shared some of them with her when she was deemed old enough to drink firewhiskey with him in the den of Grimmauld Place. He had laughed even harder at her disapproval and shock, but one night things had gone differently.

"_Honestly, Sirius," Hermione said, taking a prim sip of her firewhiskey while Harry rolled his eyes, "didn't you care about any of those girls?"_

"_I certainly meant them no harm," he said with a wink. Then his face turned thoughtful. "It's not like they cared about me either. It was a sort of mutual using. I would never take advantage of a woman who didn't know what she was getting into."_

_Hermione looked at Sirius, surprised. Not that she had ever assumed he was taking advantage, but she had never heard it put like that. Naturally she had put herself in the shoes of the women he seduced, knowing how she would feel when this handsome and charismatic man left her behind for someone prettier, or sexier. She would feel used, dirty, and unimportant. It had never occurred to her that Sirius might feel the same way, given that he covered up any deeper emotions with a wink and great good humor._

"_Ever the gentleman, eh, Padfoot?" Remus asked with an edge to his voice, snapping Hermione out of her reverie. She realized that she had been staring at Sirius, and he had been staring back._

"_Of course," Sirius said with a toss of his shoulder-length black hair and a clearing of his throat. "A pureblood must be a gentleman at all times."_

"_Good thing I'm off the hook then," Harry said._

"_Harry, your parents were both magical. Why on earth wouldn't you be considered a pureblood?" Hermione asked. All three men stopped and looked at her. Maybe it was the whiskey or her new-found guilt over making assumptions about Sirius, but she felt a little irritable. "I mean, there had to be a first witch and wizard, right? Probably descended from Muggles themselves. Everyone comes from Muggles, who came from apes, who came from Africa. Really all this blood purity tosh is... is... bloody ridiculous!"_

_Sirius was the first to start laughing, followed quickly by Harry and Remus. Hermione started chuckling soon after, carried away by their merriment._

"_Don't ever change, kitten," Sirius said, laying a warm and supremely masculine hand on her arm. "Don't you ever change."_

Admittedly she had had a bit of a crush on the dashing ex-con, but it was just one of those unattainable fantasies all bright teenage girls have about experienced older men. Young Sirius, with his unexpected shyness, was much more in her league. Sort of. Not that she would consider anything more. Timelines to maintain and things like that.

Though how much of the timeline she knew was disrupted by her very presence? She still needed to talk to Dumbledore about that. Maybe...

_No, I will not ruin the future for a cute boy. No matter how cute. And puppy-dog like. And... for gods' sake, Granger, get it together!_

Hermione considered changing clothes before going down to dinner, looking over the Sharing Table for outfit options. She had not told the other girls that she was going for a walk with Sirius, already fairly confident in what their response would be. Disapproval from Amelia; shock then disappointment then disapproval from Lily; a different sort of shock (a much less flattering kind) from the more girly roommates, followed swiftly by disapproval.

Nope, better play it safe and stick with her uniform. Not like she could show off anything fun anyway, between the scar on her chest from Dolohov's curse in the Department of Mysteries and the scar on her arm from Bellatrix...

No! This was not a date!

Hermione did take some time to fix her hair in the mirror before leaving the dorm, sleeking it down a potion Hestia had given her. She did not consider herself to be drop-dead gorgeous, but she knew she was pretty enough (if only her hair would behave consistently). Sure, she wasn't classically beautiful like the Watson twins, Honoria and Hestia, nor was she slightly exotic, like Marlene (whose mother was a Greek witch). Still, her eyes were a nice shape and her lips were curved and pouty.

She wondered if Sirius...

_Oh for the love of little green apples, this is not a date!_

Still, her eyes found Sirius's as soon as she entered the Great Hall. He smiled broadly at her, that happy grin that reminded her of his Animagus form. Dogs have a particular kind of smile, wide and carefree and joyous. Sirius's smile was just like that, and it was impossible for her to not beam back at him.

The butterflies in her stomach turned into frogs, hopping and prancing so much she would be surprised if she ate much of anything.

_Not a date!_

She sat with Lily and Amelia for dinner, halfway along the table and out of earshot of the Marauders. They talked quietly about the week's lessons and what they planned to do that weekend. Apparently Gryffindor tradition, for the upper years, was to celebrate the end of the full first week of classes by throwing a party in the common room after curfew on Saturday. Her seat-mates seemed unlikely to attend, but Hermione thought they could be persuaded. If anything, sober people would be needed to contain the natural Gryffindor exuberance of their classmates.

And maybe just maybe she felt like she had earned a firewhiskey.

"Ready, Hermione?" Sirius asked. She snapped to attention, not even realizing that he had come to her side of the table and was standing right behind her.

"Ready for what?" Lily asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Oh, Sirius and I are going for a walk down by the lake," she said.

All six girls immediately protested, loudly enough that the whole Great Hall looked in their direction, in exactly the way Hermione had predicted. Sirius looked a little worried, and maybe even a little resigned, under his carefully defiant expression – though she suspected she could tell that because she knew him well enough. Well, she knew his future self so well. Would know him so well? _Tenses are confusing_.

Hermione held up a hand, and the girls' voices subsided. "I'm sure he will be a perfect gentleman, won't you, Sirius?" Hermione turned to look at the gray-eyed Gryffindor, who seemed shocked that she would stand up for him to her dorm-mates. "Won't you?" she repeated.

"Of course," he said, extending a hand to help her up from her seat. "I'm fairly certain you would hex me into oblivion if I didn't." Hermione laughed, grabbing her satchel. To her surprise, Sirius took it from her and put it over his shoulder and offered his arm in a decidedly old-fashioned gesture.

"Well, maybe not into oblivion," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "But at least in the neighborhood." She took his arm and he led her out of the Great Hall, away from the gaping mouths and disbelieving stares of their year-mates.

* * *

Sirius could not stop smiling as he led Hermione, on his arm (thanks for all the manners lessons, mother!), past his gaping friends and outside the stifling stone walls of Hogwarts. James looked livid, Peter confused, but Moony didn't seem surprised at all. Sirius didn't care about them, though. His thoughts were completely on Hermione. Not only had she shown faith in him again, but the whole Great Hall had seen it.

If he was Padfoot right now, his tail would be wagging.

"You are going to be a gentleman, right?" Hermione asked when they were a sufficient distance from the Great Hall. His heart fell for a moment, until he turned and saw the mischievous grin on his face.

"Only if you'll act the lady," he responded, waggling his eyebrows. Hermione laughed and whacked his arm with her free hand.

"Their faces! I know you have a reputation, Sirius, but I didn't think I had accumulated one in the short week I've been here." He laughed with her, enjoying the musical sound of their merriment intertwining. He had never really joked around with a girl like this.

"They probably think I'm going to seduce you," Sirius said.

"This would have to be a date for you to do that," Hermione said, looking away from him. Again, his heart fell.

"Isn't it?"

"Isn't it what?"

"A date?"

"Is it?" Her voice was disbelieving and, he wished, hopeful.

"I don't know, don't think I've ever been on a proper date before," Sirius said, pretending to ponder. "What would make it a date?"

Hermione, picking up on his playful mood easily, tapped her chin with the forefinger of her free hand. "Well, flowers would be a nice start."

"_Orchidium,"_ Sirius said immediately, producing a beautiful bouquet of stargazer lilies from his wand. He disentangled his arm from Hermione's and offered the flowers to her with a bow. She giggled, a supremely feminine sound he had never heard from her before. He wanted to make her do that again.

"What else?" he asked, taking her arm again and leading her to his favorite spot by the lake, near a copse of silver birch trees.

"Getting to know each other," Hermione said. She wordlessly Conjured a Gryffindor-red blanket for them to sit on. "Although, I should warn you, there's a lot about myself I can't talk about."

Sirius thought about that for a moment. Hermione was a mystery – that's part of what he found attractive, really – but she had to tell him about herself eventually, right? He must have been silent for longer than he thought, because Hermione said in a very different voice. "Or we can just sit here and not talk."

"No, I'm sorry. I just, well, this is probably the part of the date that I have the least experience with." He grinned roguishly to take some of the bite out of the honesty of that statement, but her eyes filled with sympathy anyway. She glanced back at the trees surrounding them.

"You know, the silver birch is said to symbolize new beginnings and cleansing of the past." She turned those beautiful brown eyes back on him. "We don't have to know everything about each other just yet but, maybe they'll help us get started."

"Is there anything you don't know?" Sirius asked, with a gentler smile than before. She was so brilliant.

"Yes, but I'm working on it." They both laughed and conversation flowed from there. He told her a bit about his upbringing – she had a lot of questions, being Muggle-born, about what purebloods experienced in their childhoods. There was no reason to go into every sordid detail, but they found enough to keep them occupied.

He talked a bit about how he became friends with Remus, after first explaining that he had practically grown up with James. "So you became friends because he helped you with a Transfiguration essay?" she asked, smiling. "Thought you of all people would be brilliant at that." Sirius raised an elegant eyebrow. Surely she didn't know... no, that was impossible. No one knew.

"Yep, he's a good friend and a better homework helper," he said. Hermione laughed.

"That's what Ron always said-" she cut off abruptly, her eyes filling with sadness.

"Who's Ron?" Sirius asked, curious for a peek into Hermione's life before she appeared in a flash of golden light.

Hermione looked away, out over the lake, and took a shuddering breath. "He was one of my best friends. He's dead now."

Sirius was silent for a moment. He desperately hoped she wouldn't cry – he didn't know how to handle crying girls. She took another shuddering breath and squared her shoulders. "Sorry, it was recently, sort of, and-"

Sirius reached out and touched her hand, surprised at how small and feminine it felt beneath his calloused hands. "Like you said, we don't have to talk about everything today, right?"

Hermione nodded. "It's getting late, we should be getting back."

Night's cloak was spreading across the sky, the jewels of her garment twinkling, as the two Gryffindors made their way back to the Tower. Somewhere along the way Sirius had taken her hand in his again, enjoying the feel of her palm pressed against his. He had kissed many girls, and done much else besides, but this... this was different.

Still, he really wanted to kiss her. She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as they quietly made their way back to the dormitory, still under the melancholy of their last topic of discussion.

"I'm sorry I killed the mood," she said as they neared the portrait hole.

"Oh, you think there was a mood then?" he asked, allowing a bit of flirtatiousness into his voice. Hermione blushed – yet another thing he wanted to see, repeatedly.

"I don't know," she said, suddenly shy.

By unspoken agreement they stopped at the last turn before the portrait of the Fat Lady. Sirius turned and took both of Hermione's hands in his.

"Hermione," he said quietly. "You don't have to be shy with me, not after all the things I've told you about myself down by the lake." Her eyes met his and he smiled. "You know, I don't usually talk to girls like this. Most of them don't seem-" he swallowed, shying away from the vulnerability in his own voice. He wanted to say that most girls didn't seem interested in getting to know him, other than in the biblical sense, but could not bring himself to voice that thought.

"I know," she said. "More the fools they. You are worth knowing, Sirius."

"Why are you so sure of that?" he asked. How could this woman drop out of the sky and already be so sure of him, when girls he had known for six years just assumed he was a walking erection?

She squeezed his hands. "Need I remind you? Good man? Worth knowing? Is any of that sinking into your thick head, Sirius Black?"

He chuckled. She was something else – melancholy one moment, mischievously brilliant the next. Hermione Granger was easily the least boring girl he had ever met. "You're something else, kitten. Don't ever change."

Hermione went very still, staring hard at him. He raised her left hand to his mouth and kissed the back in a gentlemanly gesture.

"Normally at this point in the date I would be snogging you senseless, but I did promise to be a gentleman." He did not miss the flash of heat in her eyes at the mention of snogging, but chose not to press his luck. Hermione seemed to believe in him, for whatever reason. No one besides his friends did that, and he was desperate enough to not throw that away on a few kisses.

No, those lessons were sinking into his thick skull just fine.

"So this was a date then?" Hermione asked, a little breathlessly.

"Oh yes, and tomorrow night's will be too."

Her answering smile put the stars to shame.


End file.
